I left my father’s shoes, laces untied,
beside the suitcase in the hallway.
I left my schoolbooks, my honor badge
and my application to University.
I left the buildings stacked like dominoes and the stature
of our hero in the plaza where four streets converged.
I left the rain staining the upstairs window
and the courtyard where women washed laundry in a tin tub.
I left pigeons in the park roosting in dusty trees,
and the Mandelbrot in the bakery, and the braided challah.
I left behind my name and my good young body
and I went wandering,
a refugee, my dark hair shorn
and a broken comb in my pocket.
I left behind my mother’s shadow spilling like grain
through the doorway of the house.
I left the smoke of my father’s cold breath
and the horses…