A Past Cubed Poem by Juan Alvarado

He left work early under pretext, and drove
through the old streets of the sun drenched valley.
He was looking for the remnants of a not so distant
past; looking for a son of Italy and America, a friend
made in the forced fellowship of bondage.

He did not find the vaguest of traces.
So he drove through the old neighborhoods
of a deeper past when he was young
and still impressionable, he drove on.

On Stagg, he stopped across the street at
the front of the old house. It was still there. But after
such long time it was... no longer there; it had changed.
So he resumed his march and drove again. Twice
he went around the block; twice he felt the loss of patrimony.

On the way home. as he exited through
the old streets, he felt the compelling
past that was between the other two;
the day was the fifth anniversary of her passing.