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.
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.
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.
