Brooklyn Bridge

Maybe it’s time I delete you from my text messages;

Maybe it’s time I scrub you from my skin,

the kisses you would have planted down my neck.

 

I can close my eyes and see you in your black tank top,

the sun warming our backs,

a dozen freckles sprinkled on your shoulder.

 

The things I would do to that constellation…

the stories it could tell if I connected each star

with my finger, or kiss by patient kiss.

 

The sparks that fly between us are almost as bright,

lighting up my hope against my better judgement.

 

And since I cannot erase the stars from the sky,

I will take a snapshot of that moment in my mind,

maybe save it with my screenshots.

 

I’ll hope that this time next year,

I’ll meet Earth’s orbit where I saw you last:

on a beautiful bridge, with a beautiful boy

 

Remembering what it was like

the first time I read a poem that breathed your breath,

traced the marks that line your skin,

 

Felt the smoothness of your lips against mine—

while specks of light danced on your Brooklyn face,

the way the sun welcomes the stars home.

 

September 26, 2019

Sun

You are a star in a sky I have not seen,

you are a drop of rain in a hundred deserts

and desserts

because walking in the rain can be fun

with ice cream and an umbrella, no?

Your voice plants bits of light under my skin,

your slender frame and well-styled hair

have me wanting more.

You are some kind of fire that speaks

the same language as my Earth– the one

with floating flowers and talking sponges,

the one where Reggie Rocket gets us in trouble

and girls kiss girls at midnight in brightly lit squares

and everything is alright.

Because I’d want to call you baby.

Because, hell yeah, I’d make love to you and I’d fuck you

but do you seriously think I could do one without the other?

You’ve got me smiling ear to ear, wanting more of your story,

your moments, your rush because I know you’ve felt it, too–

with some lucky woman in another room,

where you lit only candles and talked in only whispers.

I would never be quiet about you, unless you wanted me to.

And I can sing your praises now, my mysterious friend,

but you deserve more than words. They do not do you justice.

To your sexy eyes and smooth skin, your laugh bouncing off

subway cars and driveways and street lamps– I wish I could

dance along with it forever, and I’d be willing to,

if it meant having you.

I put you up on a pedestal because that’s where you belong.

Your style is bad ass and your humbleness is hot and your words

have me wanting more, more…because for all your physicality,

I could listen to you speak, no sight, no vision, for days.

You are a star and a sun

because, of course, there was never any difference.

Expect that there is only one sun,

among many stars,

and how lucky I am to get to soak you in at all.

 

January 29, 2019

A Song For You

To write a song for you…

I’m not sure

that would be enough

to conquer all the land mines

and droughts of ego,

to call back love and light and mystery

all in their due time.

You are an angel

from a sky I have not seen;

you are a fighter

sent to battle with the demons of our ancestors,

a capitalistic machine

that drowns us all in its own way;

you are the oxygen tank.

 

Take your place on the stage, my dear,

and I will hear your heart sing before your lungs,

will promise to throw every rose

from my garden up to you,

to let you take a bow,

to strike up a conversation with my neighbor

when he says, “God damn, that child sure does know how to sing,”

to which I will say, “And she sure does know how to live.”

 

May 6, 2018

Phantom of the Opera

Last night I saw Phantom of the Opera with a friend, front row, all the way on the right. She won the tickets in the Broadway Lottery in New York for less than a third of the price.

This is what I learned from the show:

  1. Be patient.  Be aware.  Be kind.
  2. Love the light and the dark in you.
  3. All experiences teach you something.

Without going into more detail, I’ll just say that I found the play to be highly symbolic of an experience in my own life.  I feel like it can speak to parts of everyone’s life, naturally. It is a classic for a reason.  Thank you, Broadway.

All

It’s all about leaning forward.

 

In the moments fear grabs your neck like a thief

and you don’t know where you belong–

the sky or the ground–

realize that all we can do is lean into the moment.

 

It’s all about being honest with yourself,

about yourself.

 

In the times joy cradles you in their arms

like a newborn child

know that you, too, can rest–

realize that you, too, are safe as long as you exist.

 

It’s all about loving yourself,

the darkness and the light.

 

Society comes up with names for every game we play,

whether it’s in our head and back again

the way we look up at skyscrapers and billboards

beach walkways and desert islands

your children are my children

we are all of the same skin

just let me in on the secret of sin

there’s no winning or losing,

there’s just where you are

and where you’ve been

in these bodies we pray

these genes aren’t moving today

they’ve taken up residence for a reason

in an effort to survive despite the season

trust in your Self, above all else

no matter what name you’ve learned,

you are here Now,

so love all of your Self,

not just some.

 

April 10, 2016