Dos

I

Looking for a quiet moment
to write
The second of peace
The place of arrival
where sounds and smells and images
take me to the butterscotch place of poetry
of dark seated images
of desperate bone bashing dreams
of black solid figures hovering at the edge of my bed
juxtaposed against
anyone’s small and fragile smile
cherry blossoms in full bloom
and mint ice cream
or cookie dough
not melted–

II

The water rushes down the faucet
You are diligently washing dishes
and in my search for me
and in my search for you
We have finally found a home–

Divine Alchemy (or Everything will turn out okay)

Divine alchemy
resting on the shores of the placenta

The child looks up to the new organ
the only creation she sees for nine full months
in awe of
this magical tree of life,
sprouting
pink, red, pulsating, bloody, veined nutritious glory
for you–

like a tiny elephant in the womb,
we’ll all bask in its nourishment

until
violently
gently
naturally
we are
(you will be)
e x  t   r    a     p      o       l        a         t          e           d
trusting in the sacred process
trusting in the holy communion
trusting that
everything
everything
everything
will turn out simply
and lusciously
o
kay–

Start a New Day

My eyes still closed–
blackness envelops

the bedroom and all
the space around me.

with my third eye,
I look down upon

the wax figure that
represents my being

and I blow air into it,
billowing like a balloon

until it swells to the edges,
leaving no more space

to fill, and here, I’ve
woken up, my eyes are

now open, and I’m almost
(almost) ready to start a new

day.

 

TDK 90

Missing puzzle pieces
but they all FIT back then
and somehow we thought
they didn’t–

Memories cascading
down the back of my brain
adolescent dreams swarm up
and then a phone call–

I see us on playground
park benches smoking
cigarettes and eating chips,
chips I’ve ended up loving

for years, dreams I wish I
had seen come true, bathtubs
full of and overflowing water
cocaine on mirrors we did not

want to get wet and yet I
would not trade it for the
world, for all the missing
puzzle pieces, I want none of

it because they never were
missing, not missing then, not
missing now, just my jaded
and upside down perception

of a perfectly perfect imperfect
world with scars and bandaids
and tissue galore, the tape needs
to be turned over. I think I’ve

heard this song before…

 

 

Wondering

Wondering what the year will bring
More delicious goodness
More cheer, more children, more cookies
and hugs–

White morning doves
suddenly appear
wings flapping off
into the rosy colored distance–

Exposed Feet

Early morning rise
cat sniffing my exposed feet
cover them quickly–

Q Train 8:04 pm

I wonder what your life
is like
Excuse me–
was like
back in your native country
with its cold, dark winters
and gray apartment buildings
concrete neighborhoods
bordering on Holocaust camps
no food in the supermarket
long listless lines for days
no white and soft paper
to wipe your asses and
whatever’s left of your humanity
has been flushed down
the figurative toilets–

So as you close your brown eyes
and drift off to sleep
I hope the Q train rocks you slowly
into a dream you’d like to keep–

Ode to Vera, My Black Cat or Night-time is the Best

I
black paws settled down
on long, temperate arms
the glow fluorescent
reflecting off a tired and worn face

II
she meows and coos and
begs for more
chow

III
this night
under the soft moon-light
its effervescent brilliance
just another visage
of the universal face
encumbered now by
material
prestige

IV
she begins the slow
descent
to sleep inside
the blanket
a small cave
i’ve created for her
so she may stay
with me

V
she scoops her back to meet
my chest
and so we make our song
of rest
and so we make our song
of rest.

Desolate Shore

I stood by the river
watching the small waves
lap upon the somewhat desolate shore
Your voice rang close
in mind
I’m bare–
naked once again.
What is that empty
void that keeps haunting my core?
The inner gnawing seems to cease
and then
it comes
again
like the following question:
How do I make these poems
sound new?
Even the sing-song rhyming
scheme has become a bore
as I feel that I
have nothing left to say
as if the Void
has consumed it all
by the banks
of the unimaginable
fantastical
and somewhat
desolate
and now
silent
lapless
shore.

Fall Equinox Gathering Poem

Looking for Lakota ways
We put them away in
search of our own blood
The Taino blood
They say it’s in our DNA
but
for me
it’s more than that
It’s a drummer’s drum
and a singer’s song
The canoe sailing away
and the lover’s long
vigil to his wife
or husband
at night
under white
shining stars
under blankets
under Mars
and little children
walking around
observing silently
soaking in the sounds
and smells
and sights
diligently
making sure not to miss a
single thing
as we’re wrapped in
our ceremonial blanket
waiting for the
kissing—
it’s when I offer you
a gift
an honor
in return
for the new life
you have given me
and the lessons
I have learned–
and the food
we’ve made
in order to
be shared
a feast
of warmth
of our tenderness
and care—
That’s all the love
I have to give
This is all the thanks
that we can give
to Creator
to Mother Earth
for a life that’s
worth living.