Julia

When you ask about my
curiously mismatched socks
Why is one sparkly?
and create your own way
to play Candy Land
Just the special cards!
My weariness alleviated
if only for a moment
Let’s dance now!
Your four years are made
only of sincerity
and I am relieved that
there is still dignity
somewhere

For Julia. May I one day have a daughter as lovely as you.

honesty

I didn’t know what was on the menu
Hoping for bits that were more tasty
Maybe something processed or with MSG
Alas, no artificial flavorings
They seem to go down easier
What you don’t know won’t hurt you
You didn’t use your best china
Just those paper plates and plastic forks
I tried, feebly, to protest
You will like this, you said
It’s a new dish
I wonder if I am ready for it

For Amy M.

The Space Between

What is the topic?
It is hard to explain
Try me
How would you define the word beginning?
The start of things
And the end?
When things cease
The topic is neither
Ah, I think I see
I think I see
I think I see

For me

I've Been Here Before

Is there a way out
of the Gray Room?
The Doctor said
“I hold the key.”
The Preacher said
“No, no, that’s me!”

The Social Worker
said not to wail
The Best Friend said
“I’ll post the bail.”

The Psychic said
“I see it clear.”
The Sister said
“had enough, dear!”

The Rabbi claimed
“These things take time...”
the Lawyer said
“You’ve done no crime.”

The Guru urged
“It’s not too late
Just close your eyes
and meditate.”

Instead I hunch down
on the floor
hoping Someone
unlocks the door...

Inspired by the song Gray Room by Damien Rice

Thursday After the Ball

This morning
the vultures circled
outside my window
poised, with talons
confident that
carnage would ensue

I tried to tell them
the boat had sailed
staunchly, they refused
to accept
that they had come too late

Moo Shu Vegetables

Do you know for how long
that takeout stays good?

I'll pack it in
those folded white cartons

Excuse my absences
if the principal signs

I wanted to give you
the best of me

Instead I suppose
we settle for less

Happy Birthday, MAG

The Heroes Are Dead

The heroes are dead

And to whom do I turn
robbed of the monarchs
when will my sentence
of estrangement end

She was a cobweb
did the spider create her?
Something too fragile
for soil so brutal

Where have you gone, Joe DiMaggio?

In a whisper
I can no longer discern
this collective
mirage from the truth

For MM and JD, MAG and BAG, and other such souls