The mosquitoes are thick as thieves,
and the springiness below my feet
reminds me
that this was all swamp
in the past
and the future.
Kyshun says:
“I haven’t been inside in a while…
usually I just drive by.”
I am trying to find rapport
I am looking for common ground.
But all I can manage is a memory about mosquitoes
and the trucks that would come
to spray chemicals in the air.
Then I see him slip into the past.
I see what he remembers.
This is his mother’s house and her mother, Ms. Mary.
Later, Ms. Mary and I rock in rocking chairs
sitting across from each other.
She tells me stories of things that came before.
And I am almost asleep
but for the faint buzz
of the mosquito
in my ear.
