in bare night scaffold fear. infrastructure timidity. barred windows. crawlspace open door to black abyss; wasn't open before. weeds. dog on chain. discarded clothing next to burnt out house, reeks of something other than death. small sign in front reads: “In Memory of Geraldine Happy Birthday July 4th” Geraldine's belongings erupted from her blackened dwelling, clutter the yard. my dog sniffs, turns away. street one block parallel gives skyline view; city lights burn long after Geraldine. two vacant houses, side by side. three for rent, five for sale my street alone. no one moves here. empty houses sit. it's a transitional area. realtors say undergoing gentrification. shit, we know what it means. our bikes stolen last week; kicked out porch rails— I never considered how easy... but hey, the rent is cheap.
