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.


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
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
   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
   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

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
            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
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


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

You kneeled before
your altar

You stood 
a wrathful goddess

but in the end
it was me
who needed you

I turned 
a kiss, 
your weapon

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

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

what an embrace
wildfire quenched
beneath the
soothing rain


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

even now
I cannot think
but the feeling of a
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


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




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.


Let’s run and skip on the


knees skinned bodies soaring


the turf-Earth

backsides resting on rubber spaceships

dizzy and


with laughter


we fall


I think now

that God

took the world

the blazing stars

and put them in




heavens and dreams



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
with my words,
to sketch in
the fair skin (one too many times
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

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

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

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

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
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

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
the mahogany




strange contraption
a light
casting shadows on
your cheeks

contraption sifts
water and grain
my palm
over yours
coffee to

a perfect blend