The humid summer where the breeze hesitated the mosquitos buzzed so loudly, like they were arguing with each other The grass stained my fingers Highland Place as I attempted to do cartwheels in the backyard. The sun sunk deeper into the tree-covered horizon, and the moths flew to the porchlight, I hurried inside, a child scared of the bugs that flew through the thick damp air, scared of the emerging darkness of the sky.

Today I will stare out the upstairs window, the green grass and swaying flowers stare back at me look at how the moss has crawled up the neighbor’s brown driveway, how the vibrant shades of green cover our backyards and among the green, my grandfather sits in the growing garden, picking at the weeds that bite at the roots of our flowers I’ll run down to the back door, and lay in that same garden, the grass breathing beneath me a cool exhale against my skin to give me a rest from the summer’s sweltering kisses bugs weave their way between my hair strands and the train sighs and sings this afternoon with the cars driving by on the other side of the house.

This evening, I’ll sit at the dinner table while the food sizzles on the stove when it’s brought to my plate, staring at me expectantly I’ll bite my tongue as my mother tells me I can’t eat until my grandmother sits in her chair and when she does, I’ll listen to family stories from generations ago and forget them all once I asked to be excused when the sun leaves the sight of the window, I’ll walk through this neighborhood say hello to horses that stand behind fences gaze up at the stars in the clear night sky, as they don’t shine the same in San Francisco and I’ll feel a breeze for the last time for a long time. and tonight,

I’ll lay in bed With blankets up to my lips and I’ll fight against my fluttering eyelids who’d like to sleep I’d like to stay conscious, like the feeble night-light who paints the walls a darkened yellow and the crickets sing me quiet lullabies beyond the window and the passing train that harmonizes upon their melody before I finish my fight to keep my eyes open.. It is the next morning,

When I awake, sometime between 11 and 12 pm, my blankets still cover my body, yet the crickets have left me “he’s gone” sings the fan, who does not provide any breeze to me whatsoever I don’t need someone to tell me what I already know the silence provides us an endless reminder anyways, The weeping of my mother, the confusion of my grandmother, the presence of my uncle, the complaints of my father, the overgrown weeds in the backyard and the poor flowers they have bitten, all provide endless reminders anyways.

Tonight when the lights begin to dim, I fight to close my eyes the crickets who once sung me to sleep, now scream like bickering parents and I toss and turn to their never-ending song, their endless reminder an endless reminder of what I once had, the grass-stains on my fingers and pants, the horses that stood behind fences, fences now broken and resting upon the ground, the moths attached to the porchlight, my impatience as I waited for my grandmother to appear out of the kitchen, the flowers of the garden, tall and proud, the bugs that crawled upon my body, the dimness of my room at midnight, lit by the feeble night-light the song belonging to the crickets, the sight of my grandfather picking at the weeds in the growing garden, an endless reminder of what I’ve lost.

I took inspiration from Yehuda Amichai’s poem with the theme of things that have been lost, along with the inclusion of family.