Foundation

In summer, we used to drive to demolition sites. I’d pick you up in my clunker of a car and

we'd chat. You told me you loved to watch falling buildings. “Like the

fall of a great leader’s statue,” you’d cheer triumphantly.

We’d reach the site, and you treated it like a

drive in theater. I was

Terrified.

You nudged me and smirked. “One comes down, and another will come up!” I always

loved the way you found creation in ruins, but my anxieties always

always

lingered.

What would you say to the ghosts without a home?

Buildings may be made of stone and wood, but they move and shift. Slowly, like the slow, meticulous

beat of a heart. They pulse. They creak. They shift

with

their

own

weight.

I never knew the wrecking ball would be so close to my own home.

I always hoped you were right about creation.

something new was built, but I never knew I'd be a spirit

wandering

without

a home.

I hoped something would come from our

CRaCking

F
o
u
n
d
a
t
I
o
n
but that wasn’t the case.

I hear you visit sites with him as well.

I can’t look at empty lots, riddled with stones, without breaking

down.