Silver wings brush by the neatly braided coiffure succulent to the naked eyes touch me – gently, pain infrequent a close friend. These legs hold no soul but a stump like a dying tree whose berth rots, thirsty for new life, voids of memories that come and go like moon beams on a cloudless summer night. Lyrics escape my mouth, no sound can be heard, how can I make you understand as we cross beyond the yellow line, small shops come to view, days when mamma took us for our Sunday treat of kielbasa and a new babushka for grandma... I want to forget but you won’t let me. Dreams of childhood scattered in the wind faintly caressing my aching heart…hold my tiny hands and we will walk into the empty streets of our past, what was left of our childhood. Now you are gone and still, I am trapped in a relic of shame wanting to be young again, to grow wings and nestle in the old awnings on Delancey.