5 Minutes in Union Square

Sunglasses permit nothing
Not the glare of the afternoon sun
Nor the vagrant stares
But he saw into my eyes
The small man with booklets declaring a “story of progress” could not keep me interested for long
I shook my head no
Vigorously no
When he asked for just a tiny moment of my time-
And so on to the next one

If I close my eyes I can hear the
Hare Krishnas sing more clearly
As if it’s the only melody that exists
Clinging their clings
And clacking their clacks
The music becomes even louder
as I wrack my brain for more words to describe its insistence
I look up and see an old Asian woman talking to the blonde dancer with dreads
And the preppy boy in white Bermuda shorts somehow knows the chants and sings alongside all the devotees

A photographer takes a picture

The men play chess in rows and the the woman who brought two puffy neon pink seats
Waits patiently for someone to challenge her mastery…

A black Man in an orange t-shirt drifts by with a broom and dustpan in his hands and a smile on his face
I like the quote written on the back of his shirt, but he floats too quickly for me to catch it in its entirety

The ghandi statue looms in the corner

Nothing left to promise
But a snapshot of the city
At an given moment
A day in union square
Can see into my eyes
The consistent sun dips
The patterns of the metropolis

A glowing orb
A fragrant moon
And to you
I say


How to Know You’re in Love

We sat on your stoop for hours

waiting for him to call back

waiting for something to happen

waiting for the ring that would take us home


I wasn’t exactly sure he would even come

or even pick up


but you were adamant

and wouldn’t digress from the plan


so 9 am slowly but surely

became 11 am


and then 1 pm

in the afternoon


I watched the sun shift from left to right


the rest is just a blur

because the phone call came


and I know now

that these memories are so few

and far between

because I’ve been getting better

we’ve been getting better

the whole universe has been getting better


and that’s how I know that I’m in love.

What about

the pink, environmentally friendly,

sustainable, all-natural cotton dress

is just a little too big for me.




If i just

shift my shoulders straight back

and lift my head up high

and tie the cinch around my waist

just a little bit tighter–


and if I just tie the tie around my neck


but not too tight

so my breasts look as if they fill up the cups

but somehow like I’m not trying too hard–


and if I pull down the

bottom of the dress

the fabric will naturally look

snug against my somewhat curvy

but not so curvy body–


and if I wear this sweater

in just this way

it will cover up the scars I’ve been

developing on my


from neurosis–


maybe if I just hide this

sour and slightly vulnerable face

with really large, expensive Versace sunglasses–


or twist my damp hair back in a low bun

in such a way that–


what if I hold my Mexican bag off this shoulder

and one plastic bag in this hand

and the other plastic bag in the other hand–


what if I


maybe if I

couldn’t I

and what about

what about

what about

what about


if I just loved myself?

Thunderbird Pow Wow



The prayer flags have been blowing in the wind for so long

that I know they have been answered

hand tied

and hands tied

wringing for centuries

begging for you to hear me

tears dropping like fucking savages

desperately clinging

to sharp objects

in the distant black night

but those perfect, blazing stars


dear god

you saw

and heard

just one tiny wish

the commit


to serve


and do your bidding


The High

up and down

up and down





up and down

up and down





up and down

up and down





up and down

up and down





Yes! No!

the wreckage of my past, contagious at your feet

we worshipped you once, and we gave you thanks

now mother’s mantra is just a little too much and

i’m scared that i might repeat the same mistake

insanity, another lesson to be learned again and again

god surely has a wicked sense of humor,

but in my humble existence, i am grateful.

i heard you, mother, messages about the divine

scrolling down your page, and little ol’ me reminiscing

the singing similar, but different, deeper

and yet, all the same–

do i miss the candlelit evenings by your chair

incense, serving spoons, salt and pepper hair?

could i not fully surrender or were you asking for too much?

a log cabin sustains, big, open windows, a rush–

mount chumash and pinos

mother earth towering above

in the silence i could hear her internal buzzzzzzzzzzzzzing…

gingerly holding pine cones

late summer leaves crushed

i felt in that very moment eternal bliss and then–

and now– i’m here, slightly empty, egoless, but tempted

breathing in and out heavily and deeply

not knowing how to finish this poem

not knowing how to say goodbye to this

not knowing how to say goodbye to you

or if this really is a goodbye at all

or just another small and minuscule and tiny fraction of the

consequence of my self-absorbed actions projected towards you

against you–

and in another undefinable psychic space

i secretly weep

i do not weep



First World Problems Poem

Waiting for my shoes

is giving me the blues

What time will you arrive?

I have to leave before five–

If you do not come

and I am on the run

I will come home sad

and that would be very bad.


Oh, little shoes

where are you?

I hope you get here safe

please come on time

before Friday’s

wedding date


If I do not see you

by the door

or in the hall

there is not much

I can stall

I will have to make do

without my cute little shoes–




you will come on time…

and everything will be fine…

my little wedding sandals…

please be so kind…

it’s you I will find

today by my door step.


Riding my bicycle

down Ocean avenue

the fear turned to freedom

as the breeze blew back my dark black hair

and memories arose


in the cauldron of my mind



and hidden

creaked open

and out slithered you

and remembrances

of you

and I crossing

the street

singing silly




and timeless days and nights

rolled into one long


in the car

driving with a dying Tom Cruise

A young nurse tries to revive him!

They love each other so much!

It pains her to see him go!

They whisper sweet nothings into each others’ eyes and ears

as he gently holds her hand

and limp he goes–

a tender soap opera

an infant dream

a vernal past time

a bourgeoning lesson

has been summoned

on my