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

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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–

Beach Ball

Listening to you
repeat every word I say
like it’s all new
it is new
it’s so
so
so very new to you
you pick up a piece and say red
it’s yellow
you pick up another piece
it’s yellow
you say yellow
the claymation on the screen
as I type this
says
“koo koo”
it’s Russian for
peek a boo
I didn’t understand why
until I heard you repeat it
(so much easier for babies)
and here we are
day after day
week after week
month after month
nearing the 2 year mark
and you are everything I hoped for
everything I dreamed of
more than I could have imagined
as we awaken another morning
rest unto another night
looking forward with glistening eyes
thanking the Lord
for another day here
to live in peace
and as much harmony
as my small mind
commands
as I will allow myself to feel
on this little
round
blue ball
called
Earth–

 

past, present, future

I have complained in the past
many, many times
about how you were never there
when I needed you.
This morning I
recalled very distant memories
looking out of my own eyes
I wondered
how is it that we remember this
and not that
whatever that may be
and as I look out of those four year old eyes
parallel to the kitchen counter
raising up my two skinny arms
to reach the cup of water
it seems as though I am looking out of
the same exact ones
as if it’s happening
right now
or even yesterday.
I remember drawing on the walls
while my mother took a shower
I remember even thinking then
how bad and mean it was to do
and yet I still did it anyway
walking back and forth along the long
dark hallway
I used different colors to make dashes
like Emily Dickinson
over and over again…
and I wondered today
now
how could I have had those thoughts
they seemed so mature
and to say that I did not know what I was doing
is not true
and I remember my mother yelling,
“we just painted these walls!”
and did I do it for attention, I wonder?
And so, today,
as I was walking home with Victoria
I saw myself again
so many years from now
watching her tell me I was there too much
that I was around too often
and to leave her alone
making up for my mother’s absence
I pushed my own child away–
silly thoughts, I think
and brush them
all away–

Trust

this has been an off year.
something about it
always leaves a sour and/or bitter taste in my mouth.
I haven’t had a “good” feeling in a while,
and even when I am among my family
my sisters
my brothers
there is a lingering dread
the one that consumed for years
the one that told me that I’m not good enough
strong enough
pretty
enough
to make it through anything.
They say that a woman is interrupted so many
more times than a man
and that even if a woman says something
it is the man that gets the credit for it
they say we have to love our daughters in such a way
to teach them how to love themselves
without relying on the age-old edict
that they are “pretty”
or
“smart”.
We have to re-learn how to talk to them,
essentially talking to ourselves,
and I find myself questioning my motives
my inner-voice
my intuition
what am i really teaching myself
or rather
what am I really doing?
am I avoiding the lesson I need to teach
in fear that I am repeating the same mistakes
as my mother?
or am i really breaking the cycle,
creating a new chain
starting the beginning of a new line of me?
of us
for
eternity?

You will ever know–

Watching you smile
is a such a tender joy–
it unfolds like a flower
in fast forward
enveloping me like
wrapping paper
on a bundle of Christmas toys–
We get to share this
gift with you
day after day
and moment after
quick moment
ever so gently
over and over again
tied up with a laugh
so lovely with a bow
How soon you will change
How fast you will grow
I will still love you more
than you will
ever,
ever
know–

In the Sea, Christmas Time

Hanging dangling
angels from a tree
Whisper willow
secrets unto me
Hidden lights
and snowball fights
and unbeknownst
tears alight–
Walking down this
picture lane
of memories
of sights ablaze
The neighborhood
still reminds me
of all the dreams that’ll never be
of all the tiny Christmas trees
of
all
the
stars
inside
the
sea–

5 am Prayer

My prayer for the morning
is that I will have the strength
to pump on
to feed you
to give you what you need
to pull up the energy
from the deepest part of my core
if I have to,
to turn on the faucet
and let the hot water run
down my face
washing yesterday’s news
away
I need to start this new day
with enough gusto
and perseverance
and positivity
that nothing will seep
into the not so awesome cracks–
I need to be so filled with your love
my love
that even the most nasty wisecrack
will seem like a welcome dandelion
showing me how pain does bring pleasure
showing me how challenges can indeed
make anyone grow–

It felt like–

Tactile movies
slipping under my skin
reminding me of the dirty
streets
and uneven pavement
lonely basements
full of
lonely people
searching for “an angry fix”
looking for someone to fill the hole
unknowingly speaking with the universe
her gift to creator
was anguish and pain
if only someone could make that void
disappear
she might have been able to
move on with her life–
Instead
for now
oceans will cleanse
dark waves
will wash
away
your
teenage
sorrow–

Fireworks

Six years old
I would not know which way to
turn my head
My reflexes not fast enough
to catch the greatest
3 dimensional light show
in honor of a blessed country
in diabolical need to
blow shit up–