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I so rarely just stepped outside
of the apartment house
(I left a lot, but rarely just stepped outside) ,
took in the day,
took in the mellow, late summer sun,
the modest bits of greenery
surrounding this building,
embellishing this fringe street,
butting the border
of the hood and the near-Shaker Heights suburbia.
I would so rarely stay at home for (almost) the entire day,
reading,
writing,
cleaning up a little.
But today I did,
the apartment now empty
of clothes, of food, of my guitar and CD player.
I relaxed,
took a walk up to Shaker Square,
my last walk up there from home
on my last day
at home,
past all of the lower middle-class,
beautifully architectured apartment buildings
on South Moreland.
I got a coffee at Dewey’s,
made the cute lady behind the counter laugh,
sat outside for the first time
in the two years I’d been coming here,
with no newspaper to read and not a thing to write.
I saw them for the first time, too,
like baby’s breath,
but purple,
delicate blossoms on the edge of Dewey’s patio;
I saw the wonderful little gardens hedging in the Square.
I walked back
and thought of how peacefully
I was leaving this apartment,
compared to my group home departures in the past
(which will not be discussed here) .
Maybe I had done some things right
in the last four years at E.139th.
Maybe I’d grown, matured,
gotten somewhere inside myself.
And maybe I’ll know to
take more walks,
step outside more,
and study the simple things in the neighborhood
around my next apartment.
Marc Mannheimer
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