Enjoy a new piece I wrote about the family down the street from us a long time ago….
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-Elaina

Funny Smells

The family two doors down from our house on Mulberry Place
Got me thinking
About people who were not Catholic people
Because that is what I gleaned from it at age six–
Ones with funny smells in their houses,
Like the smell of a bathroom, but it was their basement
Ham-like, sour-carpeted, and like piss sometimes
Maybe they didn’t collect bottles of cleaners under the cabinet
the way my mom did

But they were nice to me
Put the good TV shows on—Sesame Street, The Jetsons
Stacks of books and wooden toys splattered all over
Not neatly arranged, the way my parents liked it

It bugged me how the dad looked like he ate everything
And left nothing for the mom
He, probably 400 lbs,
She, maybe 88
And he was gruff and strange
She was quiet and obedient, and I felt bad for her

Best about their crumbling blue house was the side segment of garden
A small strawberry patch—white, then pink, then red
Much smaller than store strawberries, but sweeter
And the mom let me pick them
Showed me how to know which ones
To treat them gently, kindly, and with care

They were our neighbors, but not exactly close friends,
Again–
He seemed to take it all,
And leave nothing for his two sons, my peers,
And sweet Stephanie
At 88 pounds of mindfulness
And he with a loud voice,
Black socks, and a belly that could suffocate all three of them
Or eat them whole one day