by Gary Fox
It started with my Mom
long straightened Italian hair
cut abruptly
a stranger that left
me in tears
after that she took me
so I would never forget
the green bumpy 20
bus to Bridge and Pratt
rusting olive trestle broken
windows up the stairs onto
the platform where
the wind and the El
took us over
Frankford then Kensington
the clang and shrieks of turns
bobbled our heads
she pointed over the big
fan the stops her and my dad
boarded as kids when we
passed Mom-Mom’s
then we pop up next to 95
then into the tunnel
where the lights would flash
into darkness which seemed
forever to downtown
I would count the stops
2nd St., 5th St. and 8th St.
we get up and through
the turnstile the food market
& then The Gallery up the stairs
onto busy Market St.
holding hands to her
hairdresser’s and I drank
my orange juice on the
pillowy tan couch within
site for afterwards it
was about us and pizza
I was cemented
with each step I was home
I was me
‡‡
GARY FOX is originally from Philadelphia and currently resides on Maryland’s eastern shore. He went from a neighborhood kid writing graffiti, to a hip-hop producer, and now a retail manager, father and husband. He has published poems in Toho Journal, The Shore, High Shelf Press, Struggle Magazine, Cathexis Northwest Press, Sea To Sky Review and The Dewdrop. He has a BA in English and a certificate in creative writing from The Pennsylvania State University.
Union Spring Literary Review 