"How did you write what you wrote?"

June 23, 2018
New York City


How did I write what I wrote?

Settling in.
A folding chair. Notebook open on the table in front of me.
Water bottle set just so. Pen in hand.

I take a breath.
A beat.
Another beat.

What will I do if the words won't come?
Will I just sit here forever,
awkward in silence,
eyes watching the page
like students waiting for the last bell of the day?

An opening phrase flits through my mind

and I pin it down with my pen.

A Fragment

June 19, 2018
New York City

A Fragment.

Perhaps to be human is the impulse
to give love and seek love
beyond expectation of return,

hands reaching out, fumbling in the dark,

one last gasp of hope,

again,

again,

again.

Written on the Third Floor of the Museum of Jewish Heritage

June 18, 2018
New York City

Written on the Third Floor of the Museum of Jewish Heritage

Air. Space. Quiet echoes.

The view of the water and
the Statue of Liberty across it

Room to breathe and reflect

Room to make sense and make space

Room not to let go, but to hold loosely
a fragile thought pulsing with life

like an egg in the palm of your hand
or a bird
or the promise of wings.

Where I'm From, Version C

June 17, 2018
New York City

Where I'm From

I'm from saguaro cactus,
    from the prickly pear I scurried past
    on my way home from the bus stop.

I'm from digging holes in the backyard,
    from ground so hard and dry
    I had to drown it to make it yield.

I'm from white rice, from egg noodle soup,
    from dim sum and barbeque pork buns.
I'm from tacos, from chorizo,
    from horchata and limonada.

I'm from the jobs my father worked
    to put himself through college.
I'm from the English my mother learned
    to get along in a new country.

I'm from perms, from scrunchies,
    from Mommy brushing my hair too hard.

I'm from day trips to the White Mountains
    to play in the snow, then driving back
    to the desert heat by evening.

I'm from sheet music, from music stands,
    from Mommy's piano in the sitting room.
I'm from singing along to the Bee Gees with Daddy in the car.
I'm from piano lessons, from music competitions,
    from recitals at the mall.
I'm from stuffing my flute case into my backpack for school
    then carrying it home again.

I'm from books, from stacks of papers,
    from students' handwritten thank you notes.
I'm from Saturday mornings at the library
    and Saturday afternoons reading
    on the living room couch.
I'm from Nancy Drew and Anne of Green Gables
    and Encyclopedia Brown and Meet Felicity.
I'm from stealing paperback romance novels from my mom
    and John Grisham thrillers from my dad.
I'm from reading to my sister on the bottom bunk after bedtime,
    huddled together, a cocoon
    of blankets and words and love.