I was buried.
Trapped in my own darkness,
watching slivers of light come and go,
too disoriented and tired to chase them.
Suddenly,
the dirt fell away from my eyes;
realizations became understanding
and the light didn’t seem so far away.
For the first time,
it was easy to stand up
and reach toward the sun.
The house I grew up in and the swing set in the yard, the lid of the sandbox colored with marker to look like a giant pumpkin
in the town I attended college and the nature preserve behind it, the walking trails bursting with the smell of green life under the light of a full moon
the beach near my apartment in Los Angeles, the smell of sunscreen and salt, and the bluffs of Palos Verdes overlooking a sparkling ocean
the crowded, bustling streets of New York City, decorated with lamplight, no stars in sight, and soft snowfall melting in my hair
on Gramma’s porch, where she would tell me about chickadees and sing A Bushel and a Peck, feeding me chocolate covered graham crackers or popsicles
the theater in LA where I spent hours in rehearsal, selling tickets, and partying until the early hours of the morning, the smells of cigarette smoke and sweat hovering in the doorway
a house my aunt no longer owns, where we had dozens of Thanksgivings and Christmases, carving our names in the foam exterior of the air return in the basement
the house my Pépé built, with its glass doorknobs and pine paneled walls, and late summers picking blueberries from the bushes around the pond
in the heart of a friend I haven’t seen in half a decade, who lives in a city I’ve never been to, without whom life hasn’t been the same-
Pieces of my heart lie in memories and loves, lost feelings and burning hopes,
they are the sum of my scattered soul.
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.
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.
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.
some winter days are bitter
with biting wind that makes you work for every step
as your eyes water and your cheeks become windburned
it is easy to hate the cold
but other days
rare, beautiful days;
the sun makes friends with the season
so you can look up into its warmth
and smile,
finding a reason
to appreciate the cold.
flower petals flutter in my chest
they flit and float
but refuse to lie still
Alone they are soft and fragile-
easy things
Together, they are a frenzy-
a malestrom whirling about with scores of razor sharp rims
wrenching the air from my lungs
and bleeding the dreams from my heart
an ode to 2020
I hope we find our wildest dreams,
whether that is realization or achievement.
May we run toward the grandest things
and leave the futile ones behind;
Take a deep breath,
step out of the shadows,
and shine.
Winter came in with a snap of its fingers-
harsh winds, snowy streets, and skies full of flurries whistled through November.
Now Christmas is here
and we have nothing
but rain.
I had this idea once and wrote almost the first page of a movie script. It’s funny and I like it, and as I have no desire to write more of it right now, I thought I’d share it with you. (It’s not 100% formatted correctly, I know, but I usually do that when I’m done with a script.)
EXT. DAY. A GRAVEYARD.
In the distance, a U.S. Naval officer’s fueral is being held. A somber crowd is gathered around the grave.
Nearest to the coffin, which is perched over the open grave on the lowering mechanism, is a row of seats. In the chair by the aisle sits a young woman of about twenty eight, crying as her shaking fingers run through the hair of a child too young to know what is happening. An officer kneels before her, holding up the flag of the United States of America.
CUT TO
A girl, PAULIE, who is two or three years old is struggling to get her dress over her head. It gets caught on her elbows, then her chin. A few feet away, Paulie’s AUNT DANA is distracted by something in the distance. The child’s struggle is comical as the camera slowly zooms out to reveal that the young girl is actually only a few yards away from the funeral.
The child gets closer and closer to the gathered crowd, still attempting to pull the dress off but the older woman who was supposed to be watching her does not notice. The dress gets caught on her her chin, and then her nose. She bumps into a member of the crowd, and the older woman has noticed, and begins delicately running through the grass in her funeral heels.
The girl’s dress is stuck around her forehead, and she struggles with it. She laughs at the challenge, and she tugs on it as she runs, bumping into more funeral goers. Most of the crowd, except her mother, has noticed her antics.
PAULIE (V.O.)
I guess I’ve always been the black sheep of the family.
Finally, Paulie has freed herself from the dress, and flings it away. It lands on the coffin, and now all eyes are on her. Her mother, JAN, still shaking as she holds the flag, faints, and is caught by another funeral goer as Jan’s own mother beside her snatches the baby out of her lap.
