We know all the avenues, and all the roads. I can walk to Mrytle, Wyckoff, or Knickerbocker with my eyes closed. And I do. More than you can imagine. The way to the post office, the supermarket, the cuchifrito. Street fairs, and flea markets. All across Brooklyn and Queens. Times Square, 34th Street, and Broadway. All the bus lines, all the trains. My soul aches the way people’s broken bones ache on rainy days. Except for me it’s every day when my eyes are open. We roam Bellevue, Memorial Sloan Kettering, the dollar stores, and the parks. All the places I don’t visit anymore in New York. We’re like ghosts replaying records new and old. Except one of us is alive, and alone. All the time, I hang out with my mother. Nowhere fancy. Nowhere grand. Just a mother and her daughter buying groceries together every night since she passed. I dream, and I long for the roads our hearts know. And for the life mama, and I no longer have.