My aunt would always say to me,
“If at first you don’t succeed,
it isn’t strong enough."
And I would dream of the ocean
and my time there with her,
away from the caterpillar
that sat on my windowsill
and made for himself
a home out of the caked on mud
from my sneakers climbing
into my dark bedroom way past curfew
one too many times.
Away from my neighbor
playing his violin. Violently loud,
he kept me up until the last cloud of night
would float away from the rising sun
and reveal morning.
For he knew I was still listening.
I remembered my aunt again
and her voice rang loud inside my head,
"If doc’s got the loot, then screw the fruit."
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