Thursday, October 19, 2023


The wind carries cherry blossoms like pink snow 

Stepped on they became confetti lining the streets on my way home

It continues blowing, rustling through the trees while cars honk their horns to a backdrop of reggaeton

Lantern flies clasp the growing basil, unyielding

Ignorant they’re to be victims plucked up and crushed between fingers

Delivered into a spiral of dust spun against the concrete 

Snatched up forgettably in the current of air

Gardenia & Gold

Mid May opens its branches to the thick scent of gardenias and hyper explosion of pollen laying on the cobblestones in a brilliant mustard tone

Guitar strings play in the room above me, soft at first, then more energetic, like the Friday that warms from a frost to a sun-drenched solid eighties-era bloom

My walk home will show its grit

Replacing this beauty with garbage men collecting never-ending strewn trash

Deep satisfaction, the kind that comes from taking terrible risks pays off in the tilt of my head, the stride of my unreasonably long gate

Wedding cake floats from the baker’s window, thick frosting permeating the open air, reminding me that I’m not a Mother and have no celebration for Sunday Mother's Day

Wednesday, October 18, 2023


What I understood as he left the courtyard 

Was profound sadness

Not that a new day had begun

But that he wouldn’t see her for another two suns


The air smells like fire

The sun is gone 

Open windows bring in the sounds of a couple struggling 

Breaking up

While the scent of everything burning lingers on

“I just wanted to feel something”

A woman’s voice cries from the top of her lungs

A man’s voice travels behind her, in an unintelligible mumble

His clothes  filtering embers

Their fight fades into the wash of traffic

The smoke and fire drowned out their voices

Church bells crash in a ten o’clock gong


Wind chimes sway in the breeze

A neighbor is playing the piano in the rowhome next to me

Churning out tunes that fashion themselves into the backdrop of a murder mystery 

Coffee and my soulmate keep me company 

Couples hold hands walking by smile in a sun-drenched greeting 

A lemon print dress that served comfortably as pajamas covered me

The courtyard is filled with lilac-colored day flowers forcing their final blooms

Cats strewn about plump with full bellies enjoy their casual lays

Morning pushes back from the breakfast table feeling satisfied prepares for the afternoon 


How is it I feel lighter in the city

Walking everywhere

The rain tells me to buy a longer coat

One below the knees like those draping the ladies breezing past me 

Exchanging afternoon gossip 

Dipping while dripping into the thrift shop along the way to ogle curiosities

Warming hands with coffee still steaming

I take a page from their book of living

Tuesday, October 17, 2023


She’s old now, a half a century buried in her book.

It’s been so long since she’s been out and this is a new town.

Older than her, by centuries, and tonight had been a long time coming.

Picking out a black dress, pulling on opaque matching tights, she hangs skulls from her ears and zips up black leather boots.

Her husband surprised her with a gift, one that promised to send her back in time. It comes in a box built of black, the contents require fire to ignite.

Dancing is the reason for this evening, to old songs that make her feel young again. Some of those out with her are young enough to be her children, though she never had any.

Vodka on the rocks will provide the courage needed to move freely among those swaying to a soundtrack that her life was built on.

And pulling out her black box, with her black cigarettes, she smells fall and clove, and memories waiting to be emblazoned.

Inhaling it brings vivid movies, crackling into focus, a night on a bridge over black water, laughing and feeling like everything at daybreak was possible.

She shares them with her old heads, and the circle closes completely. Each of them traveling through the smoke sucked into their lungs and exhaled into this night.

It broke her out of slumber, each half of her living in two worlds, the one she is realizing, and the one she remembers.