Murmurings

She walks past
and exhales, "Sorry,"
giggling to herself,
staring ahead,
gone.

A black man on the train
sits with his bike,
saxophone, flute -
he turns to me, asks with a smile,
"Do you know how to identify the difference
between an English and an Australian accent?"
He exits at West 4th street.

A tall man mutters
in the Double Dragon
Chinese take-away restaurant,
"Do you know, have you heard about the deflation of the dollar?"
as the man in a suit bends down
to pick up a dropped quarter.
The server pretends to hear, makes eye contact
as he scribbles orders on a notepad.
The man thanks the server for listening.

I sing under my breath,
"Keep the jacket, just bring it back to me someday,"
and mutter my to-do list,
"Edit two essays, make chili, consider yoga,"
and greet my cats, "Hello babies! How was your day?"

In a sea of anonymity,
it is nice to verify
that you are not a ghost
passing through a moment,
gone in an exhale.

Fragments

A white table from the trash courtyard,
lugged upstairs in a rainstorm,
sits and stares at me with its Ikea trappings,
flanked by two red folding chairs
boasting hand-painted flowers,
found tucked inside an East Village thrift store.

A bookshelf poses as faux Victorian
as its comrade in arms from Nadeau furniture
pretends to be from the Caribbean,
straw drawers begging for airy shirts but
sadly filled with sweaters.

Two kitties,
one from 150th street
rescued from an apartment
housing 17 other cats,
labeled as aggressive
for wanting to play with the shy ones,
the other with weepy eyes
gushing ooze, fevered,
purring in the palm of my hand
as the ass asks for $100.
These two are mine.

A tiny family dwells in
a studio apartment
about as small as you might imagine,
filled with pieces, each with a history
I can never really know.

I find myself in fragments,
collecting parts to fashion
a story that feels familiar.

Name Tag

Hello.

My name is _______

I am a remnant.

I’ve lost my –

I’m lost,

Can you help me?

You used to know me –

I think.

The City that Never Sleeps

Your neighbor blasts his base and

the insistent thumping confuses your dreams.

That person across the alley sings opera

that should be beautiful,

but instead sounds like that Halloween decoration

that scared the shit out of your little sister in 1995.

The Coca-Cola delivery truck rolls by at 4 AM

and blasts its horn,

but is the driver really at fault?  

You know he would rather be sleeping.

It’s the screaming sober man,

the stumbling, wasted woman screeching,

and the haunting witch opera mixed with the base

that sing, ever so loudly,

“Welcome to the city that never sleeps.”

Magic

If I were magic,

I’d take you to a field of stars,

strip off all of my clothes,

and dance naked for you.

(I think you’d like that.)

You would look at me with that crooked smile,

(the one that means you don’t necessarily understand

why I am dancing naked in a field,)

before you join me.

The sweat of our love would turn the grass into silk,

and butterflies would land on your shoulder blades

to watch the fireflies wink.

For Tayleigh Ann

Sweet little girl,

tell the Moon, “Goodnight,”

as it shines just for you

while your mom holds you tight.

Say goodnight to the air,

it’ll rock you to sleep

in the boughs of the branches

whose secrets you’ll keep.

Say goodnight to the stars

they are falling for you

brightly dancing a dance

to make dreams come true.

My sweet little girl,

tell the world, “Goodnight,”

as it cradles you softly

while your mom holds you tight.

Sliding Gently

We will now exist in a soundless space, 

our feet will glide across the frozen earth,

as we pass through moments once there, now lost –

of touching lips, slipping fingers

finding buttons, finding breasts,

finding v L e o,           

letters of a nothing word

that can mean so very much –

We will not go there, not anymore.

My thoughts echo in the silence

where our words once existed.

They threaten to spill, to overflow

into this void that fills with the

glittering memories of crystallized

failures sliding gently into nothing.