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



Only Had

You told me to read this
when I have time
a lot of time
it’s really long
and with that I knew
I had to
right now–
And so the writer tells us
of a time
in which he lost consciousness
after being pummeled during a football
for what seemed like many, many years.
He married, had children
and played with them often
loved them always.
There was a lamp he discussed
that he looked at from
time to time
and as time passed
the lamp began to take a new shape
look a little off
not seem to be right–
Until eventually
one day
the lamp
and its base
completely took on a new form
and here he was
on the ground
no wife
no children
no sweet faces to kiss goodnight
and so
he was depressed
for 3 whole
that there is More
to this life
and others
we think we might
be living
just one
and you lose
all that you


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
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–


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
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”
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

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

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
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–


Trapped in this
four block radius
I want to see what lies beyond
I want to take you there
so you can see–


Tiny child
Your laughter rings aloud
like dazzling jewels
strewn across the floor
I want to pick them up
of course
and string them around my neck

Sparking Eyes and Breath of Life

Your eyes sparkle today
in a way I have not seen before
They move
like stars
on a cool night
out in the country
for all the silent children to be
far from any moving truck
bumbling down a hot city lane
distant from the potholes
or stagnant puddles
or dirty candy wrappers.
I find myself
loving you more and more
each day
Connecting with you
like a new lover does
like a moth to a flame
each kiss brighter and more
than any breath of life
I’ve ever thought I’ve taken–


I remember asking my grandmother
why we had roaches.
She told me it was because of
the other people in
the building,
not us.
I guess that made me feel
a little better about who we were
and our role in the projects
in the Bronx
in the world.
We weren’t dirty
Others were.
We weren’t to blame
Others were.
The message rang loud and true
for years:
The differences between “us” and “them.”
Consistently breaking free of
socioeconomic shackles,
my mother’s three sisters and
two brothers ran away from home very
early, leaving my mom to take care of
her mother, leaving her mother to
take care of me
and it’s been quite some time since
I’ve thought about those tiled floors
that blackened my feet
or the wall of lush plants that guarded
the windows
or the howling winds from the hallway
moaning their way through crevices under
the front door–
or the roaches that crept on the floor
next to the cat bowl.
We both played with them
(Our little toys)
They’ve scuttled back into our lives
in a way that makes me question this
cyclical dance,
The semi-circle of my belly
mimicking the trajectory of all of our lives
and I–
I just want what’s best for my kid
better than I had
and then some–