Passing the shop window
at the corner of Main and Third
every day for a summer
we admired it. It moved
from wall to wall
but was always there
glassed and boxed
in a square maple frame.
Occasionally we would go inside
to visit it, the coffee
from the shop next door
warming our hands
through the styrofoam.
Driving by at night
I would be held by the light
and see it illuminated
in a corner.
The morning after the postcard
announced the sale,
shuffled in with the bills,
we walked to town
through crinkled leaves
only to find
it was gone.
another american childhood 