Brooklyn baby

The Rent

In Brooklyn, we lived
in an attic, I am told,
until I was a year
and a half old
It was in the house of a
Mr. and Mrs. Farber;

we liked them,
they were kind,
they were gentle.
I remember, they stood in the foyer
at the foot of the stairs;
remember it kindly.

The attic was under
a flat roof.
I can hear my mother’s mouth
singing at me,
There are things in this world
I don’t know.

The attic is a good place,
tall windows, no curtains
bright sunlight on the walls

I suppose my father
must come home
I suppose there are beds
and a sink and a place
for clothes, I suppose
we eat and the smells
and the bugs in the summer
and the noises like horns
and voices from the street

And he must
make some money
and then gives her some
Somewhere there’s a snap purse
in which she folds
the money she’s to give
to the Farbers

She must
do something else with her time,
my sister must look at me
my father must be there
so much must be happening
that I don’t know.

Bet the Farbers
could have fixed it 
I bet they could have
made her stop singing.
But they took her money
gently and watched us climb
from the foot of the stairs.