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.