The garbled words I could not understand Her inner life surrendered to this bed She could not move her legs or either hand To be this helpless with the worst ahead. I took the train not knowing what I’d find The stroke licked her and she was paralyzed Her body failed although the brain behind Was sharp as ever… sharp but agonized. She knew me when I visited her there And could not stop the tears she tried to hide The smell of disinfectant in the air Her eyes fixed on the bibl

A child prays beside a virgin’s feet The holiest of women. There I wept Was it for joy or sorrow? And I stepped Closer in the heaviest August heat. It was thirst… Thirst and hunger led me there But I am flesh and they are only stone Her arms open but not for my despair My empty belly not from where she stood A portion of her love not meant for me. She gazed upon another lovingly. I cried but was denied water and food Of course a statue can never know pain Unlike her child I

A little hoodlum steals the geisha doll In Chinatown, a place she likes to go. They will not notice her being so small Or miss the doll dressed in a kimono. She zips her jacket running “GO GIRL GO!!! ‘BE AS FEARLESS AS THUNDER!!! RUN AWAY!!! The storekeeper tries to follow. He is slow… A block behind she hears him yelling “HEY!” But she can ride the subway on her own Sticking a silver token in the slot And pulls the doll out, finally alone Until she hides it in her secret s

He remembers that time before the war The fragrant kisses of a sweet perfume Welcoming him inside her open door As he embraced the beauty in that room And found his heartbeat when soft music played The swirling scarves of love and fantasy. For as long as she would have him he stayed Looking back to this time in history. The dream whispers to him before the tears Before his soldiers crumbling in the sand Their last wishes arisen from their blood Quietly drowning in a gentle la

My leaves fell once and will again My limbs are bare after the fall Hardly worth mentioning it when It doesn’t bother me at all. Autumn is never a surprise Summer will come and fade away What else if it were otherwise? Can’t fight the seasons anyway. You see I have nowhere to go I have nothing better to do It could be worse. My leaves will grow Back in the springtime when they’re due.

To think we shared city sidewalk We sat on rocks in Central Park Where children draw with colored chalk So excited to make a mark. What better way to spend the day? You came here fifty years ago On a lazy kind of Sunday Watching the people come and go A bag of chestnuts on your lap You asked where you could find a map. The sense you had of being free Was stronger than the need to write The atmosphere inspired you And you could stay up late that night. Now roller skates are br

The skeleton of this building remains Its windows only shards of broken glass By the old factory still run the trains Along the tracks, desertion as they pass The tattered frame of what was once a town The blast of fumes exhaled by the highway The tired metal abused and run down With century old bridges giving way Passing pockets left of a rural wood Now forsaken… tree branches wave down cars. I hear a cry where once the mighty stood Then solemn and covered with brighter star

My grandmother made her X on the line Demeaned because she could not sign her name Her prosperous son showed her where to sign I understood the privacy of shame A burden that makes others look away. She pinches pennies by not eating meat Living on what the government will pay And Brooklynese she picks up from the street… Ellis Island, her passage long ago She never spoke of it. I do not know If guardians brought her across the sea Or if she endured the voyage alone Cast on t

The weight of ages pressing against her Cornered but unafraid and so, so weak… With what remaining breath she tries to speak. “This is the end.” Death as it grows stronger As with birth, it requires no privacy. It asks for little and answers not at all. “I am dying.” Her words quietly fall “Please, your consent.” Her eyes follow me… I cannot give it though in our embrace When peace comes I will cover her with tears. “Not now!” I beg before she disappears When I still see t

Another tenant must have let him in An addict needing quick cash left his hole The gun, a prop he found or simply stole. I froze at first… he forced it in the jamb So that I could not bolt the solid door Screaming as if I didn’t give a damn Then with my fists I nailed him to the floor I tasted rage while hammering his head When not one neighbor stopped to make a call Hearing the shots of electricity Knowing this kid wanted another fix In Union Square, a common thing to see Cr

Stitching their quilt with small remnants of silk The widow ladies piece each one to piece They make no time for dwelling on spilt milk Putting in practice everything they teach Gathering at the work bench for their tea Changing the subject to more pressing things Like needlepoint and fine embroidery. They all have long laid down their wedding rings No longer dressed in black or ebon lace. To show their grief they did not disregard The etiquette which was observed with grace

With eyelids closed and shuttered by a nail The sense of sight when other senses fail Is now covered with ash so freshly laid The memories of fire newly made When dust will be transported on a breeze And haunting earth with former centuries Like other ghosts it cannot breathe again Though it may linger for a moment when In shadows made by people it once knew It stops to notice like it used to do But passes through, this resident of air And curses death still wanting them to c

The housekeeper has finished mopping floors She earns her income by doing the chores Where she is treated kindly, sometimes not Careful not to overlook any spot. Her husband parks closely against the curb Mindful of prejudice in this suburb Although they recognize him as her spouse He is polite but won’t go in their house. Instead he opens the door for his wife For better or for worse for all their life And kisses her, asking “How did it go?” He rests his elbow outside the wi

The hill sat silently that winter day Pockets of hoof prints mixing with the snow A meadow where in summer daisies grow. I remember riding a horse that way A split-rail fence, then a pasture below Having left once again where I might stay. Now the redwood barn shudders in the cold Forgotten to the deadly wind outside As if it once wept tears that long have dried For a hope much too childish to hold When now I only close my eyes to hide With nobody else but myself to scold The

Of all the things that I forgot I am reminded of the spot Where meadows wave upon a hill With split-rain fences. Trees are still And nestled in a darkened wood Wearing its sleepy, leafy hood. Tied to a rail my chestnut mare Ready to go her back is bare. I climb up, grab her by the mane Riding bareback without the strain Of a girth around her belly. I know her body under me No saddle on to separate Joined together we leave the gate Galloping, we move as one then A bee bites h

As if he could be ten years old again Regain the fearlessness he had back then A freedom having made his mind to reach By running down a sand dune at the beach A schoolboy who anticipates the rush Negotiates a dune covered with brush With seashells sharp enough to slice his feet Like tiny pebbles on a dead-end street Like fallen needles under thirsty pine. He loves the smell of seaweed stirred in brine The warm sand feeling nice between his toes And on his skin when takes off

Terrible goodness conspires within him Crouching in recesses the bloated weight Too ponderous for angels, too great For devotion which will never condemn But cannot censure in the names of peace And loyalty, where he has built these walls And mirrors surrounding, where beauty falls Back, for us to remember its release As painful, the pain of mortality He thinks excludes him, his hope In divinity, crushing hearts that cope With him and the missing apology. He justifies himself

I know her voice hearing the velvet strain She rides on the shoulders of love and pain And rises as a masthead on the bow The ocean spray cool on her sweating brow When all the labor that her musing took The passion poured into each little book Immortal words strung by a shaky hand She climbs upon a pedestal to stand A child going ‘round in adult shoes Playing games, a convincing little ruse She knows by heart and knew it all along. She is tired of entertaining the throng And

Where I first sucked the egg yolk from its shell The stink of cigarettes in every room It nauseated me, that nasty smell How I hated that little piece of hell That dungeon and it’s sickening perfume The screaming that went on, the slamming door The footsteps hammering from floor to floor Until she took the lighter from its drawer The spilling ashtray and would say no more The look of pity she had for herself Another trip to the box on the shelf Stirring the plum tomatoes whil