Sam

Gangly and lengthy—
She knew from a young 
age She was different:
that She would travel
a different lover’s lane
than Her Mother. Her
Mother had one. She
would have none. When
She told Her Mother,
it was this dampened
dream She felt in Her
Mother’s (subtle)
disappointment.

…She wobbles
now in jean shorts,
cut-off- at-the-knee,
and combat boots—
the ones She wore
that disappointing
day; her hair: still
cropped short and
boylike; her face:
young and freshly
plumped; her frame:                      
lengthy, but plush—her
stomach...grows: a favor for
a friend whose womb is closed.

New Haven, Connecticut (Circa 2012):

A freshly brewed cup of coffee
     slightly organic, slightly not;

An awkward pre-pubescent,
     gangly and pimpled faced,
     seeking its own identity under
     the eye of The Old Parent;

An unstirred batter of Gothic charm
     and modern-day chic;

Suits and ties and jeans and t-shirts
     cars and bikes and buses,
     trains and shuttles;

A clash of old hierarchy and new-age liberalism;

A slightly-sharp jazz quintet still finding its melodic line;

A briary bird’s nest, nestled betwixt New York and Boston;

A new Neapolitan scoop of multiculturalism;

A diverse delicatessen;

A half-penned, unopened book;

An unfinished nook;

A ...
(to be continued)

The Art of Nothingness...

 

Faith

Under
            a steel white blanket,
            a decrepitly barren tree
            arcs its arthritic limbs

upward
             in childlike abandonment
             waiting—patiently—
             for spring.