May 1:

“Damn straight,” she commented under her breath,

as another rainy morning began, ruining the annual parade.

May 2:

Traffic lights change for no reason

in the 2 am rain; she’s still awake,

May 3:

raising her knees over her heart while in bed,

keeping the swelling in her legs down.

May 4:

Trying to let go of all tensions with deep breathing,

random words and musical motifs still play in her brain—

May 5:

Gratitude slowly germinates in her bones,

even with buried sorrow & pain.

May 6:

Time burrows under the skin,

compounding all drugs affecting internal organs—

May 7:

She screamed at her man, for spilling bathroom refuses

before he got rid of his full beard.

May 8:

Thursday night: Serious words were going down;

she showed her heart on video & was recorded for sound.

May 9:

A bonus margarita (without rocks) came in the 2nd delivery bag,

as an apology for the missing pair of Mexican Cokes.

May 10:

Mama’s love is everlasting; it keeps us 

grounded, steadfast & young during dark times.

May 11:

But Mama’s love couldn’t erase her daughter’s inner pain;

stars are not random objects stuck on black bitumen—

May 12:

Everyone’s betting upon where & when we all can travel again;

she wonders if she could ride the subway to Queens without getting sick—

May 13:

Time moves slowest

when one wants to receive any message—

May 14:

Fears inside of her spill out during meditation

through her toes, with the consistency of black tar.

May 15:

“People, we y’all need to breathe. The worst has passed; our state’s reopening!”

But—we still need to wear masks outside & in the subway…

May 16:

Is there anyone out there?

We wait for our nephew’s birthday to virtually begin—

May 17:

The toy dinosaurs were a hit.

Thank God they weren’t alive—

May 18:

Caught in her cocoon, she waits for the sun,

wondering if her wings would ever reappear—

May 19:

Last night’s steak smell overpowered the early morning at her apartment.

Her Southbound wings were still in transit,

May 20:

Her anger was like a watercolor painting; every color bled into each other 

as she screamed & destroyed the room (like Barry Egan did in Punch-Drunk Love)

May 21:

Her inner fireworks never stoked her fears,

but today’s now quiet—it’s time to go back to work.

May 22:

The cold water caught in a red Solo cup;

she swallowed it down, getting rid of last night’s Parmesan.

May 23:

First book is now out-of-print;

the fates of the musical spirits who had played Carnegie Hall are now unknown—

May 24:

A freshly-minted panic attack woke her up 

from deep sleep—or, a mini-seizure (in reverse?)

May 25:

On Memorial Day, she saw women strut the screen 

as the words in her head violently danced.

May 26:

She heard a poem about the newly dead after waking up.

When will her heart stop its constant racing?

May 27:

She woke up, alarmed, in a stranger’s bed; charmed by

her dream of a parallel life: She was married with 3 kids—

May 28:

It was just a crazy dream. Still married, sans kids.

Still has a major crush on Gov. Cuomo—

May 29:

This hot, little honey has made it back on Zoom! 

Oh, money! Good to see her friends again.

May 30:

But the library will still take a while to open up—

to staff members, to patrons & to the public.

May 31:

But right now, thanks to police brutality against George Floyd,

the streets are on fire, nationwide.