My Mecca

A Poem by Donald Paris

I’m from these old streets.
With the crunch of the gravel under my feet,
I see old and new ,
Buildings, parks, projects of wasted revenue.
It’s near villainous .
Sidewalks paved with all sorts of sins and sadness.

I’m from destroyed dreams.
Scattered, like valiant warriors after battle.
I kneel by them.
The Astronaut, the Architect, and the Basketball star,
Not resembling their cries.
They remind me of a child’s laughter.
Soft like wool caps and earmuffs.
They protect my mind and ears
From the coldness of others.

I’m from an idea,
A place made too big by the imagination.
Hopeful dreams,
Like stars, I can’t reach them.
Their light faded,
Like a sun from a million years ago.
Kneeling before the stars,

With tears sparkling
Like a thousand tiny supernovas,
I beg the place
That holds my first crush
And her golden blonde hair,
My lost teeth, and scraped knees,
And where I fathered those
Dreams I witnessed die,
“Remember me, please?”