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



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–


The birds were flying everywhere
They came to me in
An email
Flock to bbg
And see what we have to offer your
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
My totem
For femininity
A day of
Messages to let us know
We’re right where we belong
You are right here with us
The freedom
To be ourselves
And keep going


You are probably
the 3rd person to suggest, no-
FORCE the idea into my existence that
this is what my new life will be
a life you don’t have much to do with
except through your looking glass
the life you are not growing at all.
it’s not your body
it’s not your place to say
I would assume
you know much better than this
3 ladies
what gives you the right to
even think
you can think
about what goes inside the womb
this womb
that does not belong to you?
having dreams
solving mysteries
as if it’s all some fun, early evening
game show…?
I’d like to be left alone
the quietude of my tan blanket
and new sheets
warmth of the surrounding material
encapsulating my skinny bones
my threadbare arms
my naked feet
waiting for the gift to come
some silence
and then


Sitting here
contemplating ways to keep busy
I am reminded of the
endless boredom
of teenage  years long past
prisoner on my living room floor
1,000 mile (yard) stare
into the horizon of nothingness
no faith in the future
No idea of what would happen
My feeble imagination could not
fathom anything else and yet
here we are

What feels so stale is
in fact
as fresh as it will ever be
until tomorrow
when I will continue to meet
a new



Standing at the 


of eternity 

Once again

I catch a glimpse into 

Your big tiny heart 

Wondering what 

collective name we will give


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? 

Disgusting water bug 

You creepy crawly

Just roll in 

Perfect timing for Halloween

The sight of you makes my skin crawl

And my body jump

The idea of breathing doesn’t exist

As I fly from one room to the next 

Bounding over furniture and baby gates

To the safety of my snugly warm bed

Still slightly scared 

Still slightly nervous 

That you will get me in here–


Picturing you 

A dream 


The kind of child

I will always love

The kind of womb 

That takes its time

The kind of creation

That crinkles in the eyes 

A love supreme 

A masterpiece 


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”


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–