Windows into the Night

On Sunday nights,
my dad drove the white Comet
down Paterson Plank Road,
past the houses and apartments
tucked into the rocky hillside
as he delivered himself from
his mother in Jersey City.


He had three kids in the 

back seat, along with the ghost
of the baby who died,
and my mother —

chain-smoking Viceroys 
with the windows closed —
as trucks screamed past us
on the Turnpike. 

All I could do was catch
furtive glimpses i
nto the
lamp-lit windows 
on the hillside,
wondering if someone 

was making a cake,
or reading their child s story,
a tale of comfort to soften
the sharp edges of the night,
And open a window
to the morning.

 

 

(Photo: Stock Free from  www.pexels.com)

 

 

Author: Virginia Wagner Galfo

These are scary times. Prepare yourself to take a stand for what is right. God damn it, just be kind!

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