Write to think.

mom,

one day
day unknown, 
but known to be,

I’ll have to hear 
your laugh in the crows
and smell your skin
in the wet bark 
of a tree,

the leaves rattle.
they used to 
 breathe so softly small 
rises and falls with wind song. so full
 of moisture,
 vitality,
 promise so unknowing
of the inevitable
 stiffness 
but the stiffness has come. a rickety 
racket their bodies noisy now 
 drained
of all moisture bent and hunched
over 
 when a foot meets
 they cry
 a crinch-not a woosh- then…

the light 
on the hill
in the distance

saturday morning, fort greene park

on one side 
a farmer’s market
teeming vegetables,
deep healthy hues,
beaming faces,
vitality.

my favorite days are those
where we have the absolute privilege to watch
the light unfold its tender story

the difference between manhattan and brooklyn

is that 
in manhattan

you can’t help 
but look

at the billboards
and storefronts
and undeniably 
fashionable people
to set an expectation
for how your life should be

doodles

im sorry

there are just

too many boys

who sign their name

with doodles

for me to hang with you.

by his
unzipped
boots
torn pants
and bent glasses

by his discerning
near-agonizing
stare
and fingers
between his teeth

a poem

to
hold

with two
hands

that 
takes
me

up and
upside down
in between
and within