Goodbye Silverlake.
Goodbye winding roads, too small for all our cars.
Goodbye party house next door. I won’t miss the bumping circuit music or your late night hot tub parties that kept me wide awake.
See you later LaMilI, I’ll miss the morning walks with you as my destination.
Until next time, back side of the reservoir, where bold runners spill out into street. I always felt special tucking into the side roads on the way home.
Goodbye beautiful dark wooden deck, as big as a room. I’ll miss splitting a joint with the night, listening for anything I could, savoring the autonomy I used to hope for. Thank you for holding the shifting feet of party guests. I’m sorry you are so plagued by mosquitoes, but I don’t think you about them care as much as I do.
Goodbye thundering barks echoing through the canyon of homes on slopes, looming large.
Goodbye man who sneered at me when Joey peed on the leaves
in front of his garage.
See you soon, friends in nearby pockets.
Goodbye walking back from dinner and catching the full moon on the hill.
Goodbye Shari and her little pup Frankie with the blonde square of fur.
Thank you for taking the time to talk and make friends with Joey.
Don’t be a stranger L&E, I’ll always be back for another round of oysters.
Catch you later Saturday farmers market, I’ll miss the older couple selling mushrooms and the egg guy always ready with a laugh. I must confess I’m going to start seeing your cousin, the Sunday market.
I won’t miss the game of hide and seek that sunlight played with our windows. Or the ambitious ficus that grew to block out the morning glow.
Goodbye Reggie Watts, it was fun seeing you pass a handful of wrongly delivered target bags to your neighbor—wearing only briefs.
I hope I played it cool.
A happy goodbye to the catalytic converter thief who pounced on my prius three times over. I sincerely hope we don’t meet again.
Goodbye sneaky feeling of disbelief.
Goodbye to the question if I deserve a life like this.
Goodbye motion activated light outside the living room window.
Goodbye wondering if it’s a rat or a person.
Goodbye Silverlake. I’m moving just over the bridge to Atwater.
Atwater, with your level headed streets.
Atwater, where the only mountain I can see is free of houses.
Atwater, with a backyard for a dog, a lemon tree,
a fire pit, a place to gather for dinner.
Atwater, with a laundry room that I’m using as a studio.
A rectangle room big enough for a table and a window.
Hello house that will hold me as I cross into my thirties
Hello choosing rather than chasing
Hello weaving threads of longevity
Hello new channels of prosperity
Hello tender earth
Hello sunlight that works with me
Hello space to find the era
Hello what comes
xx
James