I used to live in that building.
In the basement, there’s a door
you have to stoop to pass through
that opens into the back yard
of the building next door.
We only found it because of Elliott the cat
that time we followed him
on our hands and knees
because he let us know by the look in his eyes
that he wanted to show us
something magical.

Once upon a time
the same family had owned both buildings.
The door was for them
or maybe the super
not for us to use, or even know about
But Michelle on the third floor
who had dogs and an engineer’s mind
jammed the door open so effectively
it took the bastards thirty years
to figure out how to shut it again.

For three decades we had a collective
garden, playground, memorial
herbs and flowers, a kiddie pool in summer
chairs for people to sit and talk
and be introduced to the expectations
of our small society.
Elliott is buried there, among many others.
The lavender on his resting place
always bloomed early and fiercely,
and delighted the bees.

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Patricia Russo’s work has appeared in One Art, The Sunlight Press, Vagabond City, Hex Literary, A Sufferer’s Digest, Eulogy Press, Heimat, Revolution John, and Crow and Cross Keys.