Thursday, May 30, 2013

have i told you lately ?

stepping out of a
taxi cab, from synthetic
frosty air into

thick humidity --
rich, oppressive, abusive -- 
I love you, New York.

Wednesday, May 29, 2013

dogs have a different god

bugs hang in the mist
spider webs heave with the breeze
and the light shines green;

we are in her church
walking down the aisle, crushing
gravel with our feet

Wednesday, May 22, 2013

he sleeps on my Zeppelin shirt

watch him curl his tail
and then watch someone tickle
only the black keys

all sharps, all pointy
my chain-link boy, my shadow
stay here a bit more.

Tuesday, May 21, 2013

summertime nap

her sweat has congealed
into the most delicious
aspic -- sweet, salty,

somehow buttery --
matting her straight hair into
wheaten finger waves

Friday, May 17, 2013

the truth about marriage

we may not be a
pair of great philosophers
but that don't stop us

from rehashing and
debating our fights like they're
Wittgenstein's poker.

Wednesday, May 15, 2013

a curbside conversation regarding real estate with my sensei

"my dear, now's the time."
his dog nods in agreement
and mine looks at me

like they're both really
onto something.  the train is
pounding above us

and my head and heart
along with it.  he's talking
about decisions

and of course mistakes.
is he standing too close to
the road ? or am i ?

Saturday, May 11, 2013

Just a conversation

"So, how old is your
daughter again ?  All around
the neighborhood I'm

seeing big people 
with their little people." She
cups her hands around

some invisible
small thing.  "They stand so straight and
tall.  They walk so well.

It's such a lovely
little image.  From a distance."
Fran has no children.

Friday, May 10, 2013


"imagine all the
people on Earth doing what
we're doing right now."

i'm sixteen and want
to sound deep and romantic
while we break for air.

"i stopped believing
that when i was 6," he says.
"i knew no one else

was booby trapping
their sister's Barbie Dream House
the same way i was."

Thursday, May 9, 2013

when it rains

the rain advanced from
pitter patter to pounding
and hiding from it

became the only
option. beneath the awning
we stood shivering,

waiting for the clouds
to part, and the skies to make
nice.  they never did.

Monday, May 6, 2013

every night

to not sleep in fear;
to not dream of horrors like

my teeth crumbling out,
or my dog without eyelids.
to wake up rested.

Saturday, May 4, 2013

meow meow (or, a 200 $ trip to the vet)

thank you, dear lady,
for the small token you left
for us yesterday.

this gift, this treasure,
this perfect specimen is
truly a marvel,

and rinsing the blood
varnish off of it first was
certainly worth it.

Wednesday, May 1, 2013


I did it!  30 poems in 30 days (well, close enough) for Poetry Month -- all about our daughter.  A snapshot of sorts.  Thanks to everyone who read and encouraged, especially my husband and sister.  It feels good to be back in the saddle.  

yesterday, approximately 4:10 PM

a sandy snail has
taken up residence in
the curve of her lip,

the delicate trough
made by an angel's finger
moments before birth.

she hasn't noticed.
her concern lies solely with
the playground's bounty:

a collection of
broken toys, sticks, and pebbles,
so full of promise

that she hasn't time
for neatness, this feral child,
this urchin of mine.