Two blocks away,
I make my new home.

The textbook, “How to Become a Doctor Parts 1 – 4,”
is placed on an oaken desk, crisp and clean, no dogeared pages.

I step into my short coat, stethoscope dangling around my neck,
and delight in the invitation of medicine.

Between studies, I re-learn this place.
Memory’s tendrils tighten around my ankles, holding me here.

Bone deep, they force me to remember.
A bungalow abuts a three-flat; the red soil, pungent and familiar.

Out, damn’d spot, I plead,
but the asphalt remains, indifferent to the years.

And each morning, as I wipe sleep from bleary eyes,
I pass that street corner, two blocks away.

Fallen leaves fade, nourishing nascent seeds.
I hold life in its dawning and accompany it in its twilight.

Wizened grime now varnishes the white coat.
Coffee-stains baptize the instruction manual.

And soon, a place I left, never to return,
becomes a place I grow and learn to heal.

Yet, no matter how many years I train,
I can never return him to his husband’s arms.

Even my most diligent preparation,
will never stop the stranger’s bullet

that forever fractured my family
and shattered my heart

on that same dusty street corner,
two blocks away.