Future So Bright I Gotta Wear Shades

Someday

we'll stay at a cabin again
rent an RV

ride through Tuscany

paint 

dip our wheels in the Atlantic and the Pacific

make crock pot chili

have an international night

throw coins in a wishing well

ski

get sunburnt at Playalinda

share an IPA flight

harvest tomatoes cucumbers scallions

ballroom dance

You promised we'd take

classes

in ballroom dancing

Dress up, wear nice shoes

sultry make-up, scarlet lips

Ballroom dancing

and you'd spin me 

round and round and round

Prospect Park 1985

It was summer
and then

it was winter

and then

summer again

Standing on the bridge

gazing down at the water

fast faster to some distant river.

It never freezes over.

The tales tossed into the rapids

carried away

churning foam obscures

anything too heavy to be 

swept away

but some secrets stay

caught in the rocks

I know what's down there

I saw it

Before

He loves me

he loves not

he loves me

he loves me not

rose petals fall from my fingers

float downstream

as sweet smelling as a funeral trellis

Christmas in New York

    We got up early, grabbed hot drinks, poured them into a thermos, a bag of snacks, piled into the car.  Lots of on street parking, because, you know, Christmas suspension of alternate side rules, a brisk walk, because even if it was warm, warm in NY in December will be glove weather, south to Rockefeller Plaza.

    The Tree, that giant spruce, covered with balls bigger than me, is deserted, the ice rink still closed, the shops silent.  It is easy to circumnavigate The Tree, admire the windows at Bergdorf and Bonwit and Tiffany and the origami tree at JAL.

    People lounge on the steps of St Patrick's, waiting for 10 o'clock mass, or perhaps they've been here all night, perhaps many nights.  The streets start to fill. Southbound cars slow to admire The Tree, the windows.

    It is time to move.

    We walk back to the car, stopping at an open coffee shop, for tea, scones, a croissant. We drive north, headed to the only museum open on Christmas day, the Jewish Museum.  Tonight, we'll go to the movies, eat Chinese food, fine tuning our traditions.

Dreams

Its not a dream
you are exactly

what you were

as you were

Its not a dream

Its a nightmare

Wasteland's Last Call

Last Call never feels
like last call, tomorrow

waiting, in silence

I finish my book

2 am, you stagger, smiling

I drive, stone sober

Sunday Times crosswords

not enough to build a life

nothing is enough, ever

The liquor, smooth sweet smoke

over ice, slides from your mouth 

into mine, I shiver, afraid

I reject the call

your photo blinks off the screen

last call, now silence

Penzoil II

At a high enough speed
One corn muffin, please
I stare at his mouth

 A car can drive upside-down
The waitress sets the muffin down
If we were at his place

Can a motorcycle? A bicycle?
Could you toast this, please? And more butter?
We’d be kissing, his hands fumbling

 At a high enough speed? Hmm …
I spread the butter
At my shirt, my hands in his hair

 A motorcycle, yes. A bicycle?
The butter melts, filling all the
Slamming the door, stumbling

I don’t think human power can do that
Crevasses with sweet richness
To his room, his bed

Humans can’t break that barrier
The muffin crumbles
I clutch his vial, hidden in my pocket

The moon sets
My coffee is cold
Mist snakes through the columbaria
It is Tuesday.

A Light Snow was Falling

The streets are damp
chill creeps past the seal
where the sole of my sneaker
meets the fabric covering my instep
making my feet want to abandon
once pristine socks, now
unpleasant squishiness
My sweater, because who needs
more than a sweater
in the wilds of Florida
is heavy on my shoulders
I’ll drape it over a chair
in my office, where the AC
will be running no matter the temperature
28 or 88
It runs
 
Waiting for the light to change
I tilt my head
mist on my eyelashes
too faint to be rain
is a kiss goodbye
 
Once we wore high boots
waded through slush
not caring how long it would take
to get to the west side
for pain au chocolat and
café au lait
in wide, deep cups, two hand cups,
where we’d sit outside
on plastic chairs.
You said, there is a spot of chocolat,
licked the corner of my mouth.
 
I don’t know if the wet on my face
is snow
or a shimmer of tears

Date Night

We tried something different
Set on saving, changing, tweaking
this thing between us
that wasn’t a relationship
that wasn’t a friendship
that defied any name we chose
if that name wasn’t Passion
 
Together, we had that aplenty
layers of now, silk layers
upon layers on top of more layers of
silk, with a tensile strength greater than steel
yet it dissolves with friction
The geometric progression, the Fibonacci spiral
lightening scorching our flesh
blood thundering
counting the seconds
syncopating our heartbeats
even when we were miles apart
 
But we, you, I wanted to try something different
something normal, human, ordinary
We rode the 6 train downtown
to some rancid art theater
Sid and Nancy
A nice normal couple in a rom-com
until they end, overdosed
in the notorious Chelsea Hotel
 
That could be us, you say
Your hand on my thigh
spreading your fingers
singeing me through the denim
I am lost in last weekend
my eyelids flicker
But we’re not punk rock gods
Or heroin addicts, I reply.
You breathe, The before.
The day before, that could be us.
 
I am melting into the worn seat
more stains and sticking to the floor
blending with decades of spilled soda
 
I close my eyes, your mouth on my neck,
The music, the smell of butter
When I open them
we are ordering vegetarian chili
You tell me you’re meeting up with friends
in Alphabet City and kiss my knuckles
and you’ll call me tomorrow
I take the train uptown
to find my car
drive home
alone

Sundays with Margaret

Three o’clock on Sundays
before the two-hour drive home
or longer, if there is traffic
I’d turn up
on your doorstep
balancing a plate of cake
or box of doughnuts
and a bottle of semi-decent rum
(if I’d gotten paid)
or rotgut (if the week was lean)
with one hand and
my daughter’s hand clasped in the other.


Hugs, and yes, child, you can play with Candy
Don’t worry if she takes a dog biscuit or two
They’re safe for humans, too.
For me, an ancient cup
filled with tea some sugar
Perhaps a splash of whatever high proof dregs
was left from the week before.
Cigarettes, lit from the embers of the last one
butts filling the plate your teacup nestles in.


We’d sit at the Formica table
and reminisce about people I’d never met
times I hadn’t lived in
places I’d never been
slowly sipping and refilling our cups
until the dog and the child
and the menfolk
decided it was time to plate
the roast or the lasagna or the beans and rice
depending on if it had been
a good week
and how early we were in our cups.


You gave me an apron
a velvet beret
a set of teacups
for my birthday
Christmas
Mother’s Day
when we knew the sun was setting
on our Sundays.

My daughter tucks her child’s curls
into that velvet beret
I tie the apron around my waist
and pour tea, mine laced with spirits
into the fragile cups
for our Sunday tea party

The Ring

Tonight, I sleep with a cadaver.
My husband, the denier, as the CLL
strengthened by long term COVID
consumes him, pound by pound.

Your wedding band,
indestructible titanium and carbon,
surface marred and scarred
sand blasted, acrylic chipped,
ungloved victim of some abandoned project
lies in the dirt, flung from fingers
shrunk, shriveled, from
hands once full and strong, thick with muscle,
now trembling.
Even the swiftly shipped replacement
two sizes down
spins freely with each movement.

I slide the pristine ring
onto my left pointer finger
so close to mine
so far from mine.
It knows this is not its place.
I move it to my other hand
settle it on my right ring finger
My flesh seizes it.
I can fight no more,
knees crumple and I
rest my head on your chair.

It is cold.

I light candles, adding one
Confused by the array
Who are they all? Who do I remember?
Who still lives in the life after life
as they are remembered by me?
Does my confusion erase them?
Does it erase me?
Who am I if I am not?

So many doors locked behind me
abandoned homes
sad dreams
distorted memories
overwriting some truth
that no one knows any more.

I feel your hands take mine
I see you, and so many more
waiting for me in the forever
home that will be a home
I drop the key down the sewer grate
and walk into your embrace.

Reading Tea Leaves

Aisles of tea, pushing an empty cart

staring at shelves, paralyzed

the wrong tea, the wrong tea

small bags and large bags and loose leaves

and distillates and

single servings

and and and

if I take the wrong tea

 

I drive, gas gauge blinks

empty alert

but I drive

backseat trunk passenger seat filled

every tea

strainers filters water boilers

Strip mall parking lot, empty except for

homeless shopping carts and

third shifters of the dark

temporary haven

I can’t go home

There are crackers waiting to be dunked

crushed salt for the wrong tea

 

Safer to sleep in the

shadow of the lower bagmen

who haven’t scored notches

who don’t have teardrop tattoos

 

than to face those hands

pantomime communion

wafer in wine

bread in hemlock

crackers in tea

27

Three cubed

That is how many times

today

I reminded myself

that invisible disabilities

deserve my patience

and love

and all I want

is to be free

of this burden

and all I fear

is that day is

coming

soon

Sunset on a Wheelbarrow

Dust road shimmer, another dry afternoon

cloudburst just enough for runnels

and rotting spilt grain

a week’s worth of grain

on the ground, near the coop

but not enough for new corn growing

or unshriveled beans.

 

She sends the children

barrow tippers of grain now

mixed with rotgut bottles in the

knobbyshade tree roots

to a neighbor, watches

the chickens peck peck peck

at precious scattered gold.

 

Yellow marks and cigarette ‘O’s

on her arms, neck and thighs

wait for new color.

 

There is no money to

paint the house

but

soon

she will be vivid as sunset.

 

For William Carlos Williams

Published in Deland Museum of Art 2023 Collection

I'll Feed Your Cats

Sure, Good Buddy, I’ll feed your cats

The nice grey one, wo rubs his head against my leg

And the nasty black one, who hisses and scratches at

Everyone

But I think that is because he had a

Difficult childhood.

 

I’ll feed your cats for a few days

While you’re in Heart of Florida

Since your neighbor waroound the corner

Decided it is too difficult

To unlock the door twice a week and

Refill the water bowls and automatic feeder.

 

I’ll stop at the store and pick up

Cat food and litter and treats

Come by twice a week even though it is

At least 90 minutes roundtrip

And I’m not retired like your friend across the way

Who was friends with your parents

And regales me with stories of card games with your mom -which he lost –

But at least he gets the mail.

 

I’ll feed your cats for a few weeks

When I’m not sitting with you at

Consulate Davenport or Palmer or Bartow

At least they lifted some of the COVID restrictions

So I can visit and not have to talk to you through a window

And I can bring you gum and pudding and new shirts

And socks and it is ok to give them to you without going through

The sterilization chamber.

 

I’ll feed your cats for a few months

While you’re home with that healthcare worker

Who is supposed to assist you with common living tasks

But when I spend the weekend, after you pick out a movie

I throw in the laundry and run by Publix to get groceries

Before we discuss God and religion and is there reincarnation and

Who is saved and I didn’t know you were a minister.

 

I’ll feed the cats for a few years

While negotiating with the HOA

Over the unmowed grass and the fallen leaves

And the lawyers and the insurance agencies

And bring your Bible

The pocket Bible, not the large one, the pocket Bible

Well-thumbed and dogeared

To the rehab center in Sebring or Bartow or

Even Celebration.

 

I’ll feed the cats for a few more years

Because I don’t want you to worry

When your heart clogs from

Untreated diabetes and ulcerated wounds

I’ll pack your books and guitars

The painting you inherited from your uncle who died of alcoholism

Bring them all to my place when the roof caves in

because I can do that for you, Good Buddy.

 

I’ll feed your cats for forever

Spending thousands of hours and thousands of dollars

And don’t fucking tell me I’m

Doing God’s work and getting Karma Points

Because I am tired and already stretched too thin and

Too depressed and too over-worked and support too many people

And I am done ith being the practical dependable reliable one

But I love you, Good Buddy,

I don’t want to lose you

Even a little bit of you

So I’ll pick up another bag of kitty litter

And another bag of dry food

And a few cans of wet as a treat for your babies

Because I’ll feed your cats.

 

Four Truths and a Lie

My daughter steps past him

not seeing him

But I do

I see the huddled form

not much more than the

ratty moving blanket

He’s wrapped in

against the odd Florida chill

 

My daughter steps past him

not smelling him

but I do

When he rises and staggers

standing between the dumpsters

to pee the reek of

urine and alcohol and unwashed

carries on the breeze

 

My daughter steps past him

not hearing him

But I do

The hacking glob of sputum

padding of his bare feet

hand thudding on the

wall holding him upright

echo through the parking lot

 

My daughter steps past him

asks me

Have you seen him?

The homeless guy, with the ragged blanket?

Really skinny, has dreads?

I give him a dollar most mornings,

but today he wasn’t here

Yesterday either …

 

My daughter opens the car door

strokes her baby’s hair

Have you seen him?