We are
all
trying
to
connect,
even in
the
most
impossible
of
days
We are
all
trying
to
connect,
even in
the
most
impossible
of
days
Another breath of fresh air—
The daffodils of the Upper East Side
are finally poking out of the ground;
the trees now wear blooms.
The daffodils of the Upper East Side
dance along with the wind.
The trees now wear blooms
& its pink or white petals
dance along with the wind.
Growing green things—
& its pink or white petals
dotting along the wet pavement, with
growing—Green things
are finally poking out of the ground;
dotting along the wet pavement, with
another breath of fresh air—
We are springing forward with sunny weather.
Snowy days are growing more rare;
melodies are becoming more romantic & cinematic.
Trees are starting to bud green—
Snowy days are growing more rare;
when will the flowers come?
Trees are starting to bud green.
I leave a kiss upon your forehead—
“When will the flowers come?”
I asked myself silently. How soon will
I leave a kiss upon your forehead
& I hug you when we say “Goodbye?”
I asked myself silently: “How soon will
melodies are becoming more romantic & cinematic?”
& I hug you when we say “Goodbye.”
We are springing forward with sunny weather.
Love is present in many forms.
It’s still cold outside; the sun shines brightly today
& when old friends meet up again, how wondrous!
Our brunch tasted so good.
It’s still cold outside; the sun shines brightly today
so we walk towards downtown.
Our brunch tasted so good.
She wants to shop for shoes
so we walk towards downtown.
ACE trains are not running this weekend—
She wants to shop for shoes.
19 years later, the friendship is still strong.
ACE trains are not running this weekend—
& when old friends meet up again, how wondrous!
19 years later, the friendship is still strong.
Love is present in many forms.
This damn apnea—my brain is craving oxygen
during the height of Omicron—will I ever catch
my breath / without a mask, outside? I need some
REMs (love the band, but this is the real thing), cool things
while I sleep—I need to get my heart pounding NOW
while I am awake: walking everywhere, steps; to catch
up, I drink cold pressed red juice (strawberry & stuff)
so I can concentrate—to write this poem now, & some-
time tomorrow when I get a free moment (or, just now),
while the expressions run away from me, claiming stuff
& new things to create, while we tools still run on oxygen.
See,
women can fly, too!
(piloting snowboards)
& sometimes,
these talented angels
still wear a smile
even when
they fall from
the sky—
the sun
shines back
a bright gold
upon the
whitest of
snows.
It’s too cold to go out;
it’s too dark to wander in the city.
Music grows quieter in the houses.
We draw & dream of spring flowers.
It’s too dark to wander in the city
while the snow settles down—
We draw & dream of spring flowers,
but the leaves are frozen over
while the snow settles down—
Bundle up dear ones; wear your warm boots,
but the leaves are frozen over:
be careful out there! Don’t slip—
Bundle up dear ones! Wear your warm boots.
Music grows quieter in the houses.
Be careful out there! Don’t slip—
It’s too cold to go out.
“If you don’t eat at Breeze,”
the hotel’s concierge warned us,
“you could spend
your New Year’s Eve
with ruffians!”
What are ruffians exactly
in Nantucket?
Are they the fishermen
with long, bushy beards
who wear flannel shirts & eat at Stubby’s,
or are they the workmen
that come from all the corners of the earth,
dreaming of whales & boats?
Are they the grizzly grandmas
who shop solo at Stop & Shop,
driving their weathered Volvos,
or the waitresses from Ireland,
Thailand & Jamaica,
they miss their homeland
as they pour more drinks?
Are they the shopgirls
with frizzy hair,
sharp eyes & fast hands,
speaking in indecipherable accents?
Or are they other poor visitors,
pretending to be rich
for four nights,
at the end of the year,
like artists, musicians or poets,
who play & perform
for their supper
as the tipsy audience cheers them on?
The Yule logs burn on the TV
as Xmas music plays on the guitar.
Two logs resemble square-headed
gingerbread men, their faces
made in knots of wood. They are
frozen in place, with fires grazing
at their open mouths, right before
they could kiss. My man sleeps
on our new couch, after our
noontime Christmas Day kissing.
Don’t worry Darling.
If the rain falls down,
we’ll be safe
from the storm.
& your touch
makes my skin
feel so warm—
Don’t you feel my kisses
between the lines,
when the evening turns blue?
Come over here, Darling.
I’m waiting
here for you.