My Soulmate

You like my posts
buried underneath
photographs
twixt recipes
and other poems–
As I lay my head on
your shoulder this night
I mused how far we’ve come
not from
standing still
but moving here to there
traveling to the outer space
of our minds
into the sordid depths of
our disease and
then back again
through the healing fire
a prayer heard
a wish granted
sometimes so slow like
the crawl of this express train
sitting
waiting in the dark
looking beyond the black
I remembered how much
I love you
How very much
you are indeed
My one and only
My Soulmate–

Advertisement

Victoria’s First Solids

As we
mixed up the
oatmeal cereal
I sensed an odd
familiarity-
Was I remembering
when my mama
mixed it for me
or when she fed it
to my sisters?
I told you about this
and you said you
thought about something
too–
Looking at these photos
of our baby girl’s first meal
many many
years later
after our
divorce
and crying–

This is
Victoria’s first solids–

9:46 pm Brooklyn, NYC

waiting for you to come home
the sound of wind rushing through the windows
hollow whistles the cats don’t understand
I see them fretting their little ears off
and I tell them it’s okay,
it’s just the wind.

my vision is so blurry
i cannot tell if I’ve typed
a little I or a big I,
i think it’s a little I
I’m too tired to fix it.

Fine

The day has almost passed
I’m lying on the crimson colored bed
dreaming of your violet sanctuary
in the next room over:
Where the cherry blossom decal will go
Where the “C is for Cat” picture will hang
If I want to add the pink and lilac ribbon garland
above your head
and whether or not your tiny books
need bookshelves–

You and your mother are almost done
building the honey colored breakfast nook
Sage green cushions wait to be sat on
Zoya, our cat, has already tested them out
We think we might have gotten a wrong part
And so, my patience is being tried–
But it’s fine
I think
it will be fine–

It is fine.

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.

 

Cantaloupe Island

Sitting in this black chair
tryin’ to get inspired
change the tunes from you
to Herbie Hancock
transported to another time
I’m not sure when–

(gotta do my research)

But the piano keys are
familiar, if not down right
similar to what I’ve heard
on TV, those shows
that start with M and
end with N, coming back
once again for a final
season–

(I wonder when it will be back on?)

And now that I’m done
reading what I’ve written,
it’s time to finish this poem
with an image of the two
of us dancing, (although
that’d probably never happen)
especially the way I’m envisioning
it,
quick turns, hot eyes, slow dips
what a trip
what a trip
what a trip–

Biggest Damn Puzzle Piece

It’s hot in my classroom.
The steam wafts off the radiator
I see it swimming in the air
as if we are in a safari jungle
taking a bumpy ride along
sand colored roads ducking
our heads in case of a quick
monkey attack.

The day is done, but not
quite. I’m waiting for my
husband to signal the move
from my workplace to another
where we can dine on Indian
food, his fave, my close second,
and discuss what went wrong
last night before bed and ways
in which we’ll make sure it
doesn’t happen again–

Except the fact remains
that it might just happen
again.
The hormones keep
reaching for the stars
and just fall short of a
sort of revelation. I think
I’ve got it when I, quite,
in fact, don’t–

or maybe I do, and that’s
the biggest damn
puzzle piece
that fits
(that doesn’t fit)
of all.

Resting

What yoga position have you
created this morning?
Something certainly new
like you–

I have moved clumsily
between cat’s stretch and
child’s pose and a few
cat cows
trying to relieve the pain
of my lower pack
and bring some solace
to the pulling in my
belly–

My other half rests next to me
stretching himself
eyes closed
then open
looking somewhere
far into the distance
one hand behind his head
another resting on his chest
red shirt

“What are you typing?”
He leans over to ask again
I haven’t answered
as I’m trying not to
lose this
train of

“Oh, a poem”

thought.

And so we’ve stretched
and scratched
and stretched and
stretched
waiting for the moment
the signal
to begin the day
in the best possible way
in my most humblest way
in gratitude for
rest–

Exposed Feet

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

Sunday Morning 9:23 am

waiting for you to finish taking
a shower; I’ve just remembered

that I left some hair by the sink,
but I hope you won’t mind

cleaning it up after me– that’s
pretty selfish and self-centered

I know.