The ambulance sirens have a new tenor
When my parents came to visit me,
in my home, a foreign place
to them, they asked,
“Do you ever get used to the
sirens here?”, The city, its own
middle, akin to theirs,
a similarity not known.
“I suppose I don’t notice them
anymore, really,” I replied.
But now that my parents are gone,
and I am left with only the
middle of me, slowly but surely
becoming the middle of we,
a party to the great rebalancing,
I hear the sirens again.
And each time,
I say a prayer.
I say a prayer.
