Yes and No

My Pops

(listen to me read this - push play above)

I have taught you to go forward
and open your skylights,

to fix your broken doors
and slide around in your socks
on polished floors.

It’s a dry heat.
The summer is summering.

And you like that it’s Tuesday.

The year is 1924,
in five years you’ll be in a world of
Depression so great
they gotta call it so.

You’re seven years old.

The night before,
you asked him for a penny
while he lay dying in bed.

He motioned for you
to bring him his wallet.

He gave you the penny.

You left the room.

He died the next day.

Almost a century passes,

and you still wish you knew better then.

You wish you could have asked your father questions
about his life.

You wish you could have known him.

You wish you hadn’t asked
for that stupid penny.

So I go back in time

And visit the house in Strawberry Mansion

You’re sitting on the kitchen floor,

driving a toy car across the linoleum.

I sit down beside you.

I “say, No seven-year-old ever asks their parents
about their life.

Besides,

you didn’t know.

You look up,

smile,

and ask,

“Who are you?”

I am your daughter

Now….

I’m walking you home,

but we’re not at the door yet.

Just standing

on the front lawn.

Pulling weed

Waiting to see what blooms

Who knows for how long.

This bed is your country now.

Your legs make little bicycles

beneath the blankets.

Okay, you say.

Let’s go.

One more circle

and we’re in England.

The mess hall.

The guys slap you on the back.

Bombs bombing.

Nobody notices.

Bombs bombing.

Someone tells a joke.

Bombs bombing.

Nudie magazines.

Bombs bombing.

Mashed potatoes.

Bombs bombing.

We wash our own plates

Bombs bombing

France.

A French girl.

A translation book.

A forgotten name

Why can’t I remember her name?

You ask it

like it’ll come to you.

Like there’s still time.

Now you’re looking at the ceiling saying,

Take me.

Take me.

Who are you talking to? I ask

Daddy, you say.

Oh. So, you want to go.

Yes.

Ok. You can go.

No.

Yes and No? Well, that’s a dilemma.

You laugh.

In Italian we are not our years.

We have our years.

Quanti anni ha?

How many years do you have?

You have your years.

He had a penny.

You have your skylights.

You have your doors.

You have polished floors.

You have your socks.

You have Tuesday.

You have summer.

You have Strawberry Mansion.

You have the kitchen.

He had a penny.

You had a penny.

You have questions.

I have questions.

You have the mess hall.

You have the bombs.

You have the laughter.

You have the blankets.

You have your typewriter.

You have your bed.

You have your circles.

You have the French girl.

You don’t have her name.

You have your memories.

You don’t have your memories.

You have your war.

You have your peace.

You have your father.

You have your mother.

You have your sister.

You have a place to go.

You have a place to be.

You have yes.

You have no.

I touch your bald head.

You don’t have to decide today, Dad

Just rest.

You look up,

smile,

and ask,

“Who are you?”

I am your daughter

• Dad grew up in a poor neighborhood called Strawberry Mansion in Philadelphia. In the recording, I may have said “lane,” but it was actually called Strawberry Mansion. irony.