Do I remember this place?
There are holes in my sight
Where I know ghosts still perch
Sitting on beanbags or
criss-crossed on the floor
Still, my fingertips know
this rough brick smoothed with paint
My footsteps know the paces
burned into the linoleum
I search for the bridges
where boys learned to ascend
And wonder if I could fly now
any more than I tried to back then
I think this broken-winged child
so afraid of being capable
would hate to see what I’ve become
and strive for it all the more
Someone asks me
If the red brick walls
bring back memories
Well, you and I both
have no idea
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