Sitting here

Sitting here waiting

Another day, another dollar they say

But I want to focus on rest

The sheer nothingness and everythingness of it

The Brooklyn apartment

Heating up in the sun

Cool “breeze” from our window ac

Listening to the soft humming of the tv

Waiting patiently

For the day to start

It already has

Oscillating between patiently waiting

And slightly less patient waiting

My small bird of a child

Comes up to me

And asks, what rhymes with moon?

And I say, soon…

We’re leaving

soon…

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I’m Back

It takes hours and hours of boredom
and a casual scroll through tumblr
to remind me that I am a poet!
I have not written a word in months,
possibly years
sometimes starting a poem in my head
and not liking how it sounds
backspacing in my mind
to the beginning until there’s nothing left
and the image of my future poem is
blank again
left with nothing
without even restarting
except in loneliness,
or in a quiet moment of recollection
I remember again to type my poem
in my head
and the cycle continues
write, erase, delete
write, erase, de…
And yet somehow here I am
putting the dismembered pieces back together
nothing like the original
partially probably maybe definitely
how it was supposed to be
my insidious brain tricking me
into thinking that I have any control
over how any of this ever
turns out–

Waiting

Waiting for you to come
it’s been 9 months
but in this moment
it feels longer than a lifetime
like many of them
all bunched up
a slinky in a box
waiting to expand
and when you do
it will be like
another universe
unfolding
tiny and large
all at the same time
like the spindle that
ran ceaselessly in my head
at 6 years old
forcing me to
sleep with my mother
making her worry
if her child was alright
or if anyone would ever
sleep soundly
again–

Birds

The birds were flying everywhere
They came to me in
An email
“Come
Flock to bbg
And see what we have to offer your
Chickadees”
So we showered
And dressed
And drove to
Hear a story badly told
Our roost
Moving quickly to the nest building table
Two brown eggs were made
Symbolizing the dove’s creative and feminine energies
And arriving back home
There were two pruning
Sitting on my fire escape
Red bellies
I took a few pics and sent them to my dad
He said very surely they are
Doves
My totem
For femininity
Birth
Prophecy
A day of
Messages to let us know
We’re right where we belong
And
You are right here with us
The freedom
To be ourselves
And keep going

Women’s Circle

Standing in a women’s circle 

in June of 2012

I stood across from you 

knowing that you would be my mentor 

on the beginning of this new 

and long journey 

You gifted me a soft pink, white and 

wine colored pashmina scarf

The ones they sell on tables

in the city 

on cold corners

to passersby who decide to stop and peruse

You told me as you handed it to me

it was gifted to you

when you were pregnant

by a woman

who had recently given birth 

and little did I know then 

and for years to come 

how this would be the beginning of a 

very long cycle 

of birthing and rebirthing 

both physically, emotionally 

and spiritually 

for me 

and for us 

My little Victoria is here 

and now comes another 

Sweet angel

who picked me 

who was handed down to me 

by the divine

to watch over and guide

my internal

Mother Earth 

Creating 

Healing 

Gifting 

all

the 

time–

New

Standing at the 

Precipice 

of eternity 

Once again

I catch a glimpse into 

Your big tiny heart 

Wondering what 

collective name we will give

You

What heaven you will come from 

What star will you

Tell the story of 

What footprint 

Will you leave 

When your page

Is written 

When your work 

is finally done? 

The Queen

You stand up there
tall and proud
black and proud
with your nude lace up heels,
cheetah print maxi skirt
with a slit up the side
thick leather belt that
wraps around your black
skin tight leotard
covered by a light beige duster
with big tufts of fur on the collar–
I admire your look
and I admire you even more
after you tell the large crowd you are
68–
and then I admire you even more
as you begin to tell us about your life
how you left for four years
and came back just today
how people had run you out
when they were supposed to have
had your back
were supposed to have supported you
in your darkest, loneliest
most confusing moments
and instead, when you did not fit their
image of the “queen”
(which is what they called you
and you begged to differ)
they pretended you did not exist
and so you asked
(I ask)
what is this then
the program we call
a God-given program?
if we can’t see ourselves in each other
if we can’t remember that we are
all the same
that we all come from the same place
no matter our sexual identity, creed, religion
or lack of religion
and with that crack of your voice
the quavering of your chin
seducing one tear or more tears
out of my eyes
telling us all of your pain and suffering
I heard my story too
and his and her story
and probably everybody’s story
and I thought, well dammit
you are still the Queen
even if you are not in your eyes
but mine
and even if you weren’t or aren’t
the woman we should be bowing to
I still respect you for
being you
and sharing with me all of you
which makes me
a better person–

Missing Poems

Forgot to write a poem today
the buzzing in my veins
forbids me from sitting down
getting grounded
or letting go
So please Creator
see this feeble attempt
at expression a reminder
of my unwavering dedication to you
and that all I should do
be in reverence to you
the divine force
the heartbeat
the baby in the mother’s womb–

The robbing fingers

You inspired me once 

Please inspire me again 

Show me how to shut the off button 

And press the on to inside

Inside my soul

Inside my mind

To a place I fail to rewind to.

Lately I’ve been having these flashes 

Of people, places and things-

They come ever so often

Popping in my mind these unwelcome guests

The fingers unwelcome guests in my four year old vagina 

Watching cartoons while my mom and uncle talked at the kitchen table

How could you not notice that something 

Wasn’t right?

That I was being taken advantage of?

To put it more clearly-

That I was being molested by a family member?

His face I can’t recall

How old he was

What was his name…?

In my mind’s eye 

I feel a larger body spooning behind me

A being that knows what he’s doing is sinister and wrong

But some unsatiated animal and its hunger takes hold of his decision to choose right instead 

Robbing me of everything I had- eveything I could ever be- in that moment

Cheating me of any purity

Any innocence 

Any sense or chance of a “normal”

Childhood 

And I always wonder 

As I wonder now 

how and when will any of that be rectified? 

When do I get any of that freedom or joy back?

The place my soul was before the prying fingers 

The robbing fingers 

Took it all away–

I choose love

wandering the streets of NYC
I have a plan
to not have a plan
I slowly float over tiny brown puddles
waiting for you to get out of my way
sorry that was mean
I mean, I’m letting you pass first
stuck in between a black wrought iron fence
and a tiny yellow dandelion
I choose love
Yes,
I choose love–