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.

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?

“It’s the most wonderful time of the year”—

Today’s evergreens smell like dead leaves,

the city sidewalks are wet with rain.

No snow (yet); in this December

today’s evergreens smell like dead leaves.

Holiday cookies are store-bought; hot Lipton tea is fragrant, but

no snow yet! In this December,

money is too tight for any gift-giving this season.

Holiday cookies are store-bought; hot Lipton tea is fragrant, but

our love still brews strong here.

Money is too tight for any gift-giving this season,

but our faces glow with happiness, because

our love still brews strong here.

The city’s sidewalks are wet with rain,

but our faces glow with happiness, because

“It’s the most wonderful time of the year!”

Dear God, 

please don’t let me throw up.

Rudy’s Uncle S is driving his mom’s CRV,

like Mario Andretti cruising down Henry Hudson Parkway.

“Please slow down,” I pleaded.

“We don’t have seatbelts in the back seat…”

Rudy’s mom is almost comatose;

she’s the navigator. And Aunt J

is hanging her head out of the car,

as if she was a 10-year-old girl in Haifa.

We don’t feel well. We ate too much—

Turkey, 4 kinds of salad, cranberry sauce,

green beans & mushrooms, rice & mushrooms,

pumpkin soup, pumpkin pie, apple cake,

& a cake shaped like a dinosaur.  

A feast for the gods!

Rudy’s mom: “This may be the last 

Thanksgiving dinner I’ll make.”

She’s been saying this for years.

Now, she doesn’t want to cross Central Park alone.

But Uncle S still speeds on 5th Ave,

& Aunt J is still nauseated,

& Rudy sits in the middle,

trying not to create another argument.

I hold on, white-faced,

unto the seat for dear life—

hoping that this last great meal

will stay down.