on remembering

the old man got in and didn’t say anything after he told me where he wanted to go. i knew the block where he wanted, but i didn’t remember much being around down there anymore.

i turned the corner of the street, and let the car drift slowly down the block. “it’s right here,” the old man said. we were in front of a vacant lot. crooked cement stairs rose up from the sidewalk to overgrown weeds and a falling fence. the old man in the back seat quietly opened the car door and shuffled up the one two three steps.

“this where you used to live?” i say.

his back was still turned to me, and he said, “i came alive here.” he stood still a moment, then he bent down and left flowers where a door must’ve been. “when you see her,” he said, “tell her i was here.”

“who do you want me to tell?” i said.

“just be sure to tell her,” he said.