National Poetry Month Day 7

AS IF

without fail
whenever out together
we are asked:
where are you from?
as if this city has no time
for a wide smile or
a kind word
as if the cement of these streets
renders impossible
the laughter of a private joke
the tender of a stolen kiss
as if all of us
are too overwhelmed
and underpaid
to revel in each other
to share grace
to speak beautiful
as if


April is National Poetry Month – one of my favorite times of year, where I attempt to write a poem every day. I’m having trouble writing these days, so I’m very far behind, but determined to write my thirty. They won’t be perfect, they never are, but they’ll be here, throughout the month of April.

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National Poetry Month Day 6

HBD

in a world that loves to tell women
you’re too thick
you’re too loud
you’re too opinionated
you’re too proud
exercise more
eat healthy
have babies
marry wealthy
dumb yourself down for that man
use this cream for those lines
don’t eat after 6pm
for god sakes crack a smile
baby sister, lean close
I’ve got a ceiling to shatter
you’re about to turn forty
trust me, none of that matters
they’re all lies perpetuated
by this male patriarchy
“you’re so old,
life is over”
what a load of malarkey
your forties are brilliant
the most magical days
you have the answers
you know the questions
the world is ablaze
nothing can stop you
other’s words matter little
their opinions are hot air
a side-eye cannot belittle
so sit back and enjoy
these last hours of thirty
shoot the world a sexy smile
wear something flirty
then know without a doubt
the other side is a blast
and say hello forty,
you gorgeous bastard
I’m here, at last!


April is National Poetry Month – one of my favorite times of year, where I attempt to write a poem every day. I’m having trouble writing these days, and I spent a week in Paris, so I’m already behind, but determined to catch up and write my thirty. They won’t be perfect, they never are, but they’ll be here, throughout the month of April.

National Poetry Month Day 5

GIRL BODIES

at fourteen this body felt like a prison
made of cordlike sinew and too-thick muscle
baby fat brown skin wishing for that Lisa Bonet pale
lips wide and full and nothing like a white girl’s
blossomed in my
twenties roared in
bearing gifts of size 26 Levi’s-skinny,
coffee, cigarettes, and New York City nights
filled with friends and dancing and
white-girl-wannabe dreams
no longer mattered
because yeah, life
rolled into
my thirties
were a tequila-fueled blur
if I’m going to be honest
and I am
that somehow someway
slipped into big-bellied-beyond-belief
(seriously, I gained 65 pounds)
knocked-upedness
soon-to-be mommy
(who me? yeah, you girl)
womanhood standing on the cusp
of forty
toes twinkling lips grinning
let’s do this already, bring it on, life!
YES
LET’S
in all caps
thank you very much
says my almost-forty-seven years self
as I revel in
this brown skin dark eyes
big nose wide smile gap tooth
got-a-butt-for-an-Indian-girl body
kiss my calamities
love up on my wild
I wish I celebrated your resilience and fortitude
and every inch of your brown magic
before I knew such a thing existed
I wish I hugged my twenty-five year old thighs
and rubbed my thirty-two year old belly
more often than I cursed them into submission
non-existence
oblivion
I wish I looked at you
the way Barack does Michelle
like love is all that matters
every inch of my body is perfection
right down to my weird baby toes
like I am
enough
(I didn’t then
I do now)


April is National Poetry Month – one of my favorite times of year, where I attempt to write a poem every day. I’m having trouble writing these days, and I spent a week in Paris, so I’m already behind, but determined to catch up and write my thirty. They won’t be perfect, they never are, but they’ll be here, throughout the month of April.

National Poetry Month Day 4

THAT NIGHT

I remember the night
Obama won
and how I envied the
folks dancing in the
city streets
celebrating hope
while I was home
with a belly full of baby
and a smile on my face
texting back-and-forth
with an old friend
(the kind of old who knows
where the bodies are buried
and holds the keys
to my darkest fears)
late into the night
our excitement reflected
in the incessant glow of
our phones well past
all of the witching hours
Anything and everything
felt possible
on the curve
of that family’s smile
Here and there
she and I recall
those shared hours
locked in thrall
eager for a new day
and wonder to ourselves:
whatever happened
to us
the whole lot of us
and all of that hope?


April is National Poetry Month – one of my favorite times of year, where I attempt to write a poem every day. I’m having trouble writing these days, and I spent a week in Paris, so I’m already behind, but determined to catch up and write my thirty. They won’t be perfect, they never are, but they’ll be here, throughout the month of April.

National Poetry Month Day 3

THE PATH

when I hear a lone voice cut through the peace and quiet
of the fifteen minute kind-of-late night ride home

shouting demands and grievances
to some invisible witness of her fury

and I crane my neck to learn the identity
of the slightly-off, possibly-having-a-bad-day,
shouter-of-all-kinds-of-nonsense

the one making everyone else
shift about uncomfortably
clear throats
roll eyes

and I catch a glimpse
of her reflection
in the train car window

and realize
she’s white

I breathe a sigh of relief
audible
long
deep

and thank the gods
she’s not one of ours…

that’s what it’s like
riding the Hoboken Path
while brown


April is National Poetry Month – one of my favorite times of year, where I attempt to write a poem every day. I spent a week in Paris, so I’m already behind, but determined to catch up and write thirty poems. They won’t be perfect, they never are, but they’ll be here, every day of April.

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National Poetry Month Day 2

Love Dirge

I miss you. I need you. To see you. Touch you. Listen to you breathe. Laugh. Stir in your sleep. I want to hold your hand as we cross the street. I want to kick you under the table and laugh at a private joke. Your smile. Your voice. The way you drag your fingertips across my skin. The simple of your everything. Love me always. Laugh with me forever.


April is National Poetry Month – one of my favorite times of year, where I attempt to write a poem every day. They won’t be perfect, they never are, but they’ll be here, every day of April.

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