Today

I miss early morning showers, walking through brisk air,

and the first cup of coffee in the office before anyone else gets in.

I miss the hustle of the city, hurrying to catch a train,

laughing with friends while running to get out of an unexpected downpour.

I miss quiet, dirty bars,

with tipsy bartenders and bad karaoke singers in the back.

I miss sunny walks through the park,

seeing endless amounts of dogs and people laying out on blankets.

I miss the city at night,

pools of light on street corners and the soft cooing of sleepy pigeons.

I miss ten minute train delays, waiting too long for an under-baked bagel,

I miss tripping into a puddle and shrieking when my pants get muddy,

I miss the quickening of my heart when I think I’ve lost my metrocard,

I miss the smell of street vendors even though I hate hot dogs,

and I miss the kindness of strangers, the reliance we have on each other.

I miss New York.

I miss my life.

Isolation

An uncommon quiet fills the air

and overwhelms any awareness of time.

Sunlight still streams through the back window

and the cat still lays in the patch of white light

stretching his big paws as he lets out a yawn.

There is still cooking and baking,

practicing the piano and taking gentle naps.

The silence becomes discounted,

part of the everyday,

part of life.

When there is a siren now,

a noise once part of the background of the city,

it rips at the air and ravages the ears,

ruining the reverie,

a grating reminder of the truth outside the solitude.

A Price to Pay

There is something in my house.

They hide in the corners of my eyes

and disappear when I turn my head,

but the open cabinets and missing items

tell me they are real.

So if there is something in your house,

leave out a saucer of milk,

or a cup of honey now and then;

some of them like whiskey, others prefer cookies, some enjoy wine.

If there is something in your house,

even if you can’t see it,

perhaps especially if you can’t,

give them a gift.

These fairies, or goblins, or ghosts

will only return your beloved things

for a price.

Confections

Chocolate dipped oreos lay in neat rows

beside white chocolate pretzels

and beyond that is a few pounds of peanut butter fudge

Sour coated gummies sit in clear bins with scoops

beside a cascade of lemon drops

and a haphazard stack of boxes brimming with salt water taffy

Old fashioned ribbon candy lines the shelf below the myriad of chocolates

And the young person behind the counter

smiles at you

but it doesn’t reach their eyes.