Everything is Brighter

My eyes are brown so dark they’re almost black When I open them wide and sunlight hits the irises there is a blue rim that lines them. Some people say I look like my mom. I look like my dad. But I think I just look like me. I like looking. I can look. I can read the words on a yellowing page I can see the tops of skyscrapers forgotten by the masses I can see the blue of the sky as if painted in one clear stroke I can see the face of my dad leathery, sad My boyfriend when he kisses me with blue crescents beneath his moon eyes. The one thing we can both see are the darkness and light that creep behind closed eyes. But that’s only technically speaking. I am sure we can see more.

Beanstalks

I'm closing my eyes
Still I catch 
a slice of heaven,
a crust that falls
into my open hands

I've been a blind beggar until now

I become
a flower
that grows tall, 
touches the Sun
like those drawings I made as a girl

Where the flower touched the sky
    
"Teach her how to draw
right"
Mom had said
    
You say I don't need no teaching, 
   don't need no pruning,
   no gardening
You let me grow
   wild and free
   trace me this way
   eyes wide

Let's become vines
I whisper
and so we morph
intertwining and strong
With your breath to water me

Our vines stretch
grow into thick beanstalks
that shoot from the
Earth
   into heaven
where people climb
   into heaven
to speak with God
about matters like love
   and that sort
and God tells them
   first you must be
   a beanstalk, and before
   that 
       vines
   and before that 
       a seed
       of two beating hearts
       where I've sprinkled
       the bones of Adam and Eve
       the vastness of the stars
       and heaven,
       of course,
    sprinkled to help you grow
    into something
  So that when you see heaven 
    in each other,
    you see me
    too

Song of Myself, of My New York

 

This was inspired after reading Walt Whitman's "Song of Myself." Hope you enjoy.

I am the Van Gough grass tossed sideways by the East River
I am the burnt amber of an autumn whose mistress is summer
            sweltering, muggy Manhattan summer, toes skimming Dumbo water
I am the grey slabs and faceless buildings
            of millions of tiny windows
            on the corner of Washington Square Park, Avenue A, Roosevelt, Rockaway,          
            Dyckman, Columbus, Bedford
I am the warmth of the babushka, bosom cradling a child by the
            gritty boardwalk as a Staten Island breeze caresses our faces,
            one weathered, one shiny as a new penny
I am the worn mud boots of the hipster girl,
            slouching sweater and face of nonchalance
            (though we know she cares)
I am the polished shoes of Wall street, shoes so
            shiny the Statue of Liberty waves back
I am the breeze that blows beneath the Brooklyn Bridge
            magnificent,
            stench, cigarette butts, littered coffee cups that pollute my mind
I am the square brick buildings once full
            of sewing women
            fabric and leather standing,
            a shadow of old ghosts on
            Kent and 4th
I am the immigrant worker
            sweat caked brows crying, America, ti amo! 
I am the powdered cookies
locked away in a box, raspberry
jelly
center of the universe haloed
with white sugar dust on glamorous Madison Avenue
I am the veteran shooting up enemies,
            shooting up love and forget-me
            drugs back in Hell’s Kitchen, on Beach 19th, corner of Baruch College
            asking, Will you forget me New York?

There I am eyes closed in Shakespeare slumber beneath
            a whistling New York moon,
            lacking in stars, yet filled with stars
There I am with my New York         
            rushing, pounding, flowing through my blood,
            my dream-sleep on the metallic lull of the train
There I am dreaming of you

Cry

I swirled forth
wild 
bitter fruit upon
my tongue
words that became daggers
to stab
and breakdown

You kneeled before
me, 
your altar

You stood 
before
a wrathful goddess

but in the end
it was me
who needed you

I turned 
away
a kiss, 
your weapon

I softened 
little by little
you thawed out
the hardness
inside of me
Secretly,
      I thanked you

I turned back
to face you
and I wanted to
cry
when I saw
two sad,
     luminous
     moons
     reflecting back

Oh!
what an embrace
wildfire quenched
beneath the
soothing rain

Starved

I couldn't pick up a pen, I couldn't look
at paper.
[ I couldn't bare my heart.]

I could only think of you, of work, of underground subways, of worries,
of time, of where I
was going /meant to go

I couldn't

I was distracted by

loud noises
flurries of thoughts
everywhere

even now
I cannot think
but the feeling of a
pen
in my hand,
my soul aches for

Compasses & Ticking Clocks

 

This is my calendar:

stuffed to the brim until finals

and after:

summer class, lab, lecture, work

I wonder and worry

incessantly

about whether or not

I will get things done

whether or not

I will succeed

 

until I remember that

 

there is a time to work, a time to play,

a time to love and be loved,

a time to weep

and to rejoice

a time to live, and a time to die

 

a time to      [                           ]

to      [                          ]

and     [                       ]

 

I laugh at myself,

at my folly (a time to be folly-ful)

 

a time to      [                           ]

to       [                         ]

and     [                       ]

 

a time to

 

stop

 

and ponder

if where I am now

is exactly where

I’m supposed to be

 

————————————————————————————————–

May your path be ever straight, may you always be guided by His light.


Kin

Let’s run and skip on the

playground

knees skinned bodies soaring

above

the turf-Earth

backsides resting on rubber spaceships

dizzy and

drunk

with laughter

giddy

we fall

 

I think now

that God

took the world

the blazing stars

and put them in

 

you

 

heavens and dreams

shining

hidden,

kept secret

behind your

little-boy body

the limbs that have now stretched

with time

 

I do not play on playgrounds anymore and

neither do you

 

But still I see

the light

that shines within you

mischievous eyes framed

by dark lashes

your steady, disarming honesty

your smile

 

those things remain

———————————————————————————

dVerse poets: you’ve stolen my heart and left me speechless

She Moves Mount Fuji

I long to paint a picture of
her
with my words,
to sketch in
the fair skin (one too many times
baked
brown
by the fiery kisses of the Sun)
her laughter
it reminds me of warm soda
bubbling over the cup’s brim,
it fizzes, larger than life,
and I
am happy

or
her voice.
      I have wrapped myself within
      the
      sympathy and comfort of her
      voice
      been wrist-slapped scalded by
      it
      heard the eye-rolling sighs in it
      witnessed the soulful animated
      melodies

of it
singing belting the belly-deep
opera sounds

Now it is my turn
to be her rock
to embrace her and say
everything will be okay
as she stands
decked in the somber tones
of black
and crisp starched white
nervously awaiting her
interview

she has been told
they will ask her how
to move Mount
Fuji

I want to tell her
remember how we met
the first day of math class,
the first day of high school?

I want to tell her
that one day
she will attend my wedding

that I think she is
one of the most beautiful, caring
friends
I am lucky to know

I want to tell her
            purple is her color lets get Pinkberry
            chocolate is my favorite too movie
            days are the best being
            around you I can
just
be
myself
effortlessly

That she is one of my closest friends.

Instead I say,
“Don’t worry, this
interview will be a piece of cake.”

As we walk towards the library
bodies swinging through
the revolving doors

—————————————————————————————-

For Kelly. 
P.S. I am not transferring.

A Strange Contraption

This poem is in response to using one of these babies for the first time:

Coffee, anyone?

we stand
in our socks
a teapot filled with
steaming water
that has yet to enter
our bellies
the shiny metallic
pot
where
the mahogany
grains
delicately
sink

to

    the

          bottom

strange contraption
a light
casting shadows on
your cheeks

contraption sifts
water and grain
become
one
my palm
over yours
like
coffee to
milk

a perfect blend