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




Eyes begin to close
in the doctor’s warm waiting room
Hazy colors swim
Brown. Pink. Beige.
Heavy lids drooping down
They’ve called my name
It’s my turn now–

Keep Trying

42 more days
i don’t know what else to read
i don’t know what else to write
i want to open the packages
and i want to leave them closed
i want to know where they will go
how many bibs will stay stored
how many diapers will be used
how many holes will be made in the walls
how many times the cats will scratch their claws
into the new lilac rug
how many hours will i lose
how many can i keep
can i pick up the curtains for sure
next week?
the nesting
washing the clothes
more clothes
more clothes
wet still from rushing
now dry
over milk that has not been spilt
wilting flowers
jasmine dying
“do plants have juju?” you asked
i don’t know
i don’t know
i don’t know
but let’s keep trying–

The Cord

has been
designed especially for me
for us
the cord
bringing you sustenance
bringing you life
one of the many bonds that will
sustain us
that has sustained us
that will continue to sustain us
long after it has dried up and fallen off
it becomes invisible to others
yet you and I know it’s still there
synonymous with the cord
that ties my being to my mother
and her mother to her mother
and to all females
to all goddesses, to Mother Earth
and Father Sky
You and him
have brought forth this power
to he and I
and now us to her
and she will continue to drift
to develop her own
one link to another
a large chain of being

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.


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.

Which way does your beard point tonight?

Soft sounds reverberate off the off white walls
as you sneeze in the shower

We’re starting a new day, I’m dressed, and
my feet are cold

I’m only wearing black mascara on yesterday’s
sun-kissed face

Burning lips from Eucalyptus chap stick
too lazy to wipe it off

Typing on white keys, slower, faster
looking down, looking up

If Ginsberg asked which way your beard points
tonight, I wonder what he would say

if he would even hear you,
if he would say anything
at all–

soft pink clouds

wisping away
a summer breeze
i forgot to call my own
a short sweater
i once owned
green leaves
a single dream
she says
as i begin
to shake–

Sands of Time

Closed eyes
Watchful eyes
Beautiful, blue
shimmering eyes
Blinking back teardrops
into a spoonful of honey
Waiting eyes
Blissful eyes
Waiting for the moment
when you will arrive
Sands of time dissapearing
into a dark, cold oblivion–

Friends and Lovers

Friends become lovers
Lovers become friends

Friend should not become lovers

Lovers die
Lovers die
Lovers die

Smoke rises
and vanishes