Carolina Salguero

Street posts and cables wrapped in vines

Down 18th St. The background to the summers spent in the old

House de la dieciocho. Surrounded by crumbling concrete, no longer hard

Hot summer days of dewy skin, rosy cheeks, knees green

Then, there were houses leaning like a tower of books

Old books with old stories and spines cracked

Patches of grass broke through cracks

But now all those houses and vines

Are gone. I take a long look

At the new buildings in place of the old

There are no more overgrown yards thick with green

Protecting abandoned homes. There is only hard

Parking lots of new businesses with bright signs. Hard

And whole concrete with no cracks

The last house left on 18th St., I stand on the porch painted green

With a garden fecund with weeds and vines

I marvel at this Heights house having seen it grow old

Passed through family members but this house will also be gone soon

It will erase the memories of my summers spent in those room

“The Heights is an old area.” I laugh hard

This neighborhood is no longer old

They’ve gotten rid of all things ugly. Small history buried with the cracks

Like playing with my cousins and screaming with the cicadas in vines

5 year old me eating a Popsicle that leaks green

Little mocosas with our noses crusted light green

Curious little devils exploring every nook

Climbing trees and picking at the vines

Falling hard, crying hard, laughing hard

Searching for treasure and finding bugs in cracks

This was my five year old

Life. Now 18 years later, I am 18 years older

This street, 18th St. it says on the old green

Sign at the corner of Shephard with the paint chipped and cracked

Is now a strip mall of yoga studios and all things cool

My eyes dart away from them and I look up, searching hard

For the things nostalgia demands from them like summer vines

Summer vines

Crumbling concrete no longer hard

And towering houses of book