of other years, when coal
came through the window.
when the streets
were cobble stone.
when horses pulled wagons.
and the air was black
with soot.
you could smell those years
as you crept down
the thick plank stairs
of your grandmother's house
in south philly.
the brick walls,
darkened, the musty scent
of time
and lives that have
come and gone.
their breath still lingering
in the shadowed air
before you
as the window shone
a gray stab of light
inside.
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