“Damn straight,” she commented under her breath,
as another rainy morning began, ruining the annual parade.
Traffic lights change for no reason
in the 2 am rain; she’s still awake,
raising her knees over her heart while in bed,
keeping the swelling in her legs down.
Trying to let go of all tensions with deep breathing,
random words and musical motifs still play in her brain—
Gratitude slowly germinates in her bones,
even with buried sorrow & pain.
Time burrows under the skin,
compounding all drugs affecting internal organs—
She screamed at her man, for spilling bathroom refuses
before he got rid of his full beard.
Thursday night: Serious words were going down;
she showed her heart on video & was recorded for sound.
A bonus margarita (without rocks) came in the 2nd delivery bag,
as an apology for the missing pair of Mexican Cokes.
Mama’s love is everlasting; it keeps us
grounded, steadfast & young during dark times.
But Mama’s love couldn’t erase her daughter’s inner pain;
stars are not random objects stuck on black bitumen—
Everyone’s betting upon where & when we all can travel again;
she wonders if she could ride the subway to Queens without getting sick—
Time moves slowest
when one wants to receive any message—
Fears inside of her spill out during meditation
through her toes, with the consistency of black tar.
“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…
Is there anyone out there?
We wait for our nephew’s birthday to virtually begin—
The toy dinosaurs were a hit.
Thank God they weren’t alive—
Caught in her cocoon, she waits for the sun,
wondering if her wings would ever reappear—
Last night’s steak smell overpowered the early morning at her apartment.
Her Southbound wings were still in transit,
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)
Her inner fireworks never stoked her fears,
but today’s now quiet—it’s time to go back to work.
The cold water caught in a red Solo cup;
she swallowed it down, getting rid of last night’s Parmesan.
First book is now out-of-print;
the fates of the musical spirits who had played Carnegie Hall are now unknown—
A freshly-minted panic attack woke her up
from deep sleep—or, a mini-seizure (in reverse?)
On Memorial Day, she saw women strut the screen
as the words in her head violently danced.
She heard a poem about the newly dead after waking up.
When will her heart stop its constant racing?
She woke up, alarmed, in a stranger’s bed; charmed by
her dream of a parallel life: She was married with 3 kids—
It was just a crazy dream. Still married, sans kids.
Still has a major crush on Gov. Cuomo—
This hot, little honey has made it back on Zoom!
Oh, money! Good to see her friends again.
But the library will still take a while to open up—
to staff members, to patrons & to the public.
But right now, thanks to police brutality against George Floyd,
the streets are on fire, nationwide.