April 1:

“When a person shows you his/her teeth,

it doesn’t always mean he/she is smiling,”

April 2:

Her sister tried to warn her: but she saw

his practiced grin under a mask—

April 3:

Now she’s running in a red desert to music;

seeing all the footsteps she’d made behind her when stopping,

April 4:

this vivacious girl never stops moving

even while asleep & dreaming.

April 5:

When we are asleep,

others see that we were all children once–

April 6:

Her lovers become birds with golden-tipped wings;

they transform into fish as they hit the water, 

April 7:

While real teenagers in hospitals

wear tongue depressor crowns for their prom,

April 8:

The Pink Supermoon rises

after the street shouts; before the misty morning.

April 9:

“Some days are diamonds, some days are rocks” (from Tom Perry’s Walls (Circus))

She wonders if this day would become a diamond—

April 10:

Her hair matted & twisted from sleep,

she kicked the bathtub as if she was a mermaid.

April 11:

Today’s uncertainty is worn

like a fur coat pelted by fake blood—

April 12:

Found like an egg; caught like a rascally rabbit,

sending Easter greetings to those who practice (not me, Darlings! Can’t help it…)

April 13:

In a bag of water,

there was a bruised human heart, glowing—

April 14:

Words are needed today.

Will these become the right ones?

April 15:

Crossing-over—watching male/female groupies done up,

pumping early ‘80s music made for the holy catwalk,

April 16

and when I made friends with one of the dark corners of the dance club,

she with teal blue hair, came to meet up my full lips with hers—

April 17:

Like Frida Kahlo, she was on fire;

seeing her toes dip out of the water in her NYC bathtub,

April 18:

she cried: “When my big mama check comes in,

“I’m touring Japan, when the world’s safe again…”

April 19:

But she was still haunted by 1995’s Oklahoma City;

McVeigh’s bomb crumbled the Alfred P. Murrah Federal building into an ashen, gutted cake piece 

April 20:

So she broke the invisible, tactile tension of the said Universe,

to gain sensation back in her fingers—

April 21

Still high from her radio show debut,

she fell down towards Earth, as the sky opened up

April 22:

Hovering over a river, she inhaled;

breaking tension with a steady exhale—Earth blooming

April 23:

“But—I wonder,” she said, “After Shakespeare took a shit,

he then wrote another amazing sonnet?”

April 24:

Suddenly, her heart broke, hidden behind her sensitive bosom:

“When will this sick sadness ever stop?” she questioned out loud—

April 25:

She found herself in the mountains, in an old country house

surrounded by green trees, short grasses & wildflowers 

April 26:

The silent meditation of the countryside

was interrupted by loud chattering of migrating birds— 

April 27

Zooming into the virtual world, she spoke with people in Paris,

Morocco, Abu Dhabi, North Carolina, New Orleans, Boston & New York City

April 28:

Head’s too busy; she blinked back into her apartment’s sweet bed,

her world tour was just a wonderful dream—

April 29:

In the flesh, her sister now looks like a baby Goth;

it’s the first time she’s seen her since her cancer diagnosis—

April 30:

After their dinner, she drifted to sleep listening to the last song on her playlist;

it’s the song everyone will remember—

 


Nimble like deer grazing,

people walk upon the snow

and the traffic shines afar

like fireflies slowly moving 

in the bluish mist of early evening;

the naked trees of the park

are black and tangled, showing

the fat flakes off. We tread

into the first snow slowly,

trying to get ahead to where

we are going in 2020.

Blessed by the lazy Saturday,

we snuggle in beds or do chores

as the snow continues on.

She takes her tea with milk

and eats Fruit Loops

every morning

Capable of love,

her muses are taking louder

at 4 am most mornings,

she draws flowers 

with a felt-tip pen,

drawing until the kids wake up;

she brews coffee for her hubby 

and pours more Fruit Loops

for her family,

dreaming of her gentle blooms

as she’s finishing up the accounts

at work. She wants to draw

over all the uncovered surfaces 

of her desk with lilies.

She cannot afford to plant

her own private garden.

A couple of mint plants

flourish in tiny pots

in her tiny Kew Gardens kitchen

making perfect tea

for every morning.      

Trying to quiet my mind,

but onions are frying in the kitchen

and he’s playing Ravel on the piano.

It sounds like water flowing—

I wish my thoughts 

can sometimes float on the water,

but they stomp around,

trying to dance like lilac elephants

in the jungle; Disney music scores 

and well-wishes can’t quiet these 

elephants down, they leave 

their huge prints behind.

Wherever they go, 

I can’t sleep;

others tend to creep 

along as if nothing has happened

& the water is in short supply 

as the onion smell and piano playing drone on—

Gone are thoughts of forgetfulness,

there’s nothing more, or less.

I stopped by that place

we met years ago for one night

I saw the steps and the cafe

we used to sit, passing the time

until sunrise. But today’s light 

made the sights look different.

Alone, I remember your warm hands

as I walked the cobbled streets

Your emotional marble in your head

was so big back then. What happened?

It’s now the Year of the Rat.

You got another woman pregnant 

and you must marry her, even though

she doesn’t make your soul sing.

The light has changed everything 

but I still feel the same, 

a star lost in orbit, searching for a harbor

even if love or the light disappears.