I woke up this morning
in a bed
that isn’t mine
in a country
that belongs to someone else
I woke up this morning
not having slept still
hoping it was just
our bad election dream
I woke up more afraid
for my neighbors who wear
hijabs and
rainbows and
hoodies and
turbans and
skin kissed by God
and all the young girls
who don’t know any better
I woke up with my
“I voted” sticker
still hanging
on my jacket
and my suffragist-white-shirt
still wrinkled
on his floor
then I felt around a while
for where I left my heart
in this cold and rainy
unfamiliar land
but it was gone
the first of many
casualties to come.

**This poem is published in Adanna Literary Journal Issue 7, Winter 2017! Yay!

Inspired by attending the immersive performance of “The Unseen” presented by Linked Dance Theatre.
(This poem is now published in Adanna Literary Journal, Issue 7!  Winter 2017)

Witchcraft
 
Night-tripped,
Salem pilgrim girls
run beneath the stony bridge
just as the howling
city bus flies over.
Time bending
under moonlight
chasing dancers through
Fort Tryon Park
hand in hand with Lust
in cold October.
With nervous smiles
we step across a holy book
a stolen squeeze
a secret glance
subversive dance
        the lewdness of a white hand
        reaching through a lantern loop
hanging for witchcraft
hanging for knowledge
hanging for desire…
Heart pounding beside
this stranger I’ve slept with
aching to warm his
bare hands and neck
with Autumn’s old damnation.

Gray Cloudy Poem
 
Gray cloudy days
are killing me.
A water pitcher
painful-full.
I cannot move:
the heavy weight,
the fear of spills,
I must not pour
for my love drowns,
I am too much
to safely drink.
And there you hang,
malignant clouds,
two straight weeks
mocking,
threatening rain.

Umbrella Poem
 
The water bottle
is not an umbrella
still it rains
despite my thirst
           since you happened
            I forget things
I meant to grab
the umbrella
a bleak, Fall rain
           the seasons
           must have changed
           when you undressed me
now Summer’s cooled
and you have cooled
remember now
that moment when
the happy patter of
words keeping pace
the easy rainfall
of your songs
broke silent
cold
now broken Fall

Been writing again... uh oh.

Ask Me
 
 I want to open
up my skin for you
show you where
my bones connect firm
muscles to my tissues
wet with tears,
the messy heart
that beats and breaks
unschooled,
the capillaries
where my dreams
run swiftly
hot and cold,
the wilderness
of my strange roots
all tangling, pulling
your loose thoughts
to braid them tightly,
tightly to my own.

This poem got published in Adelaide Lit Magazine, May 2018!

Poem from One Knee
 
Danced with all
the dancing men
but I can’t turn
with your left hand
on my left hip
and your right pinning
my right arm
sweet sad-singing
soulful songs
into my helpless ear…
been locked down
all week long
while you work me

you pretending
you’re not even here.

Another Granny poem...

Cloud Poem
 
We can’t converse but
I can hold your hand
and listen to you
talk of clouds
whose shapes and faces
change with time
your eyes are yours
then not yours
I rain through airports
planes cut through
your clouds/my heart
you’ll soon fade off to
warm mist and ascend
your tender smile
will float above and change
and change and change
the cotton candy sky.

Holding back
my horses of affection
bridle tugging
heels slipping
in the dust of past mistakes
I want to run
headlong and with abandon
crashing through the stables
of your unsuspecting heart.

Matter:
n. physical substance;
that which occupies space.
 
Deep space, of course
is blackness
without limits
thus all mankind
came from Africa
one people
balanced on
one earth that
skates around
one galaxy
heads spinning through
fear and denial
of the right
of all humans
to occupy space
with unique
physical substance
to be seen
felt and heard
an acknowledgment
a communion
an end to spilling
bullets, blood, and dreams
turn over
a new light year
please, with greater wisdom
and more love
 
this is a poem
about mattering.

Belligerent
the subway horn
insisting right of way
along the track
you pressing me
to come around
your anguish
bearing down
like knuckles
in my cheeks
the loudness
of your hurting
blotting out
my window’s view
it’s only you
strong train…
Heart-bruised and sore
I can’t give you
my station anymore.

Underwater
 
When you left
I fell underwater
into the loudest silence
floating through days
through darkness
in eerie slow-motion
unmoored.

Wasted
 
You took my heart
and my entrails
and where my stomach was
a buzz of angry flies
bites and torments
you say I never loved you
I was a waste of time
left itchy, hollow
gnawing misery
I cannot sleep
I cannot even
swallow tears.

My Weird Familiar of Alone
 
Past midnight
in my weird familiar
of alone
I wrap myself
in the ticking clock
kiss peace
in the refrigerator’s hum
with dainty nerves
I check in to
Hotel Autonomy
for yet another
open-ended stay.

Rock Poem
 
A large rock
in my stomach
carrying
your wrath to term
your disappointment’s
rough edges
the deep weight
of loud words
then I’m “inhuman”
when I don’t respond
but my tongue
can’t pull
a rock
around the lump
stuck in my throat.

So back in November I heard a reading of Nat Cassidy's beautiful and terrifying new play The Demon Hunter and drafted this poem.  ...Then holidays happened and I completely forgot about it and discovered it in my journal earlier this week... as will happen.  ***This poem was published in the May 2016 Waterways Poetry Journal!***

F Train Poem

Here in the killing hour
angels and demons
crowd the subway platform
with old rock and rollers
and drunk melancholies
who wait in agitation
for the grim F train
to roar up with its sticky floors
and windows grimed to black
to chug on down
to Purgatory’s
dread last stop
or open its cracked doors on
the blinding Rapture’s light
but here at 3AM
beneath the Lower East Side
the platform fills and fills.