the blueshift journal

The heat kept us in white t-shirts and 
uptowns 
holding our breath crossing over dark liquid 
from trash bags
the color of my mother’s knees pressed
against tiles
cleaning bathrooms on the Upper East Side.

​

We sit in parks emptied of children with 
quarter drinks
my brother tells me we never go anywhere 
wipes his face
tells me all his friends are Upstate every weekend
or in Disney
we have never seen the inside of Chuck-e-Cheese
my mother tells him 
we came here, isn’t this enough? 

​

My uncle, expecting a child, moves to a place
the homes 
have lawns and backyards where the subways
do not go
my mother shaking, calls her sister back home 
    He wants to scatter us like his money
    is it not enough we came to the end of the world?