Mom would stay close to home. Traveling is not much in her nature.
As she would say, “You’ve seen one lighthouse, you’ve seen them all.”
Dad was not like that. He wanted to see this, visit museums, know the world.
Then he got old.
He was always five years older than she, but at a certain point he aged,
got weak, forgetful, and ready to die.
“You can help me,” he said more than once. “You could do it for me.”
I didn’t even ask what he wanted me to do.
“I’m not gonna help you kill yourself, Dad.”
He didn’t push the point.

As an only child, I had my own room
with a loft.
I had a lot of space to myself.
When I was sent to my room,
it was never much of a punishment.

I live at my house in the Bronx,
but my house is separate from Antiseptic Ninety Fifth Street.
My house is not the home of which I speak.
My house is where I sleep.
I have been speaking about my home.