POEM: Thanksgiving Day

Posted 24 November, 2011 in Family, My poems, Poetry

Listen to this poem using the player above.

/ / /

Thanksgiving Day

Prospect Ave rooftop
two sisters, one lover
endless blue sky
iced tea and cigarettes
next roof over pigeons
gathered for the holiday

we laugh, hold hands
feel the sun on our faces
grateful for the morning
for bagels and cream cheese
for reunited families
for the laughter of children

half my heart is missing
the other half is here

POEM: words of wisdom

Posted 27 January, 2011 in Audio Poems, Family, My poems, Poetry

words of wisdom

“it’s only a paper moon”

no, that’s not what he’d say

“you’ve got to take care
of your family first”

is that it? or maybe

“keep your head down
and get a separate room
at the end of the hall”

it’s not as if all his sayings
were collected in a book
this is a guy, after all,
who was famous for not talking

I wish he were here now
because I’m at the bottom
and can’t figure out what to do
I think he’d be a good one to ask

we used to spend most of our time
talking about big bands
or the latest episode of Lawrence Welk

I remembered all the names of the Welk people
even though, truth be told, I’d only seen the show
a few times

but I always knew I could get him talking
if the subject were Pete Fountain
or the Glen Gray band

he took me to my first concert
Pete Fountain and Al Hirt
at The Shell in Canandaigua

two guys from New Orleans on stage
two guys from Pittsfield, Massachusetts
in the audience, swinging

when I wake up, the first things I see
remind me of him: a purple moon,
a vase of flowers, a Parisian riverside

and out here in the living room
another of his paintings
and a cross-stitch of my first initial

did he ever have a long night when he doubted?
when he couldn’t pay the rent and the food
was running out and it was all too much?

he was from a different era, when men
didn’t talk about those kinds of things
they were just expected to hold up their end

he worked at the same place for 48 years
never took a sick day — not one
my resume looks like the classified ads

in later years I heard some rumblings
he was stubborn, his weapon was silence
and I guess that may have been true

I never saw it, though
he was who I wanted to be
a class act

someone called me that yesterday
“a class act”
but I can’t see it

I’d like to be sitting in the passenger seat
of one of the endless parade of white cars
listening to WYLF (the “music of your life”)

maybe he’s driving me to my clarinet lesson
or he and Grandma are taking me to Burger King
or over to their apartment for dinner

Ring Dings and a block of Velveeta in the fridge
potato-chip chicken and mini cheesecakes
broccoli covered in cheese and Ritz crackers

and that old glass coffee mug with the recipe
for Irish coffee on the side, mostly whiskey
with some coffee to take the curse off it

even though by that time neither of them drank
but they always had liquor in the credenza
in case a mixer broke out / it never did

god what I’d give right now to go over there
to explain all this and how it all happened
and ask him to forgive me and to tell me

“I love you and you’ll be OK”

is that what he’d say?

stone #16

Posted 16 January, 2011 in aros, Audio Poems, Family, My poems, Poetry, Stones

Listen using the player above.

/ / /

his small hand in mine
“I love you, Dada”
my arm around his shoulders
“I love you, too”

/ / /

part of a river of stones

stone #15

Posted 15 January, 2011 in aros, Family, My poems, Poetry, Politics & Activism, Stones

Listen using the player above.

/ / /

Justice for all, service to others and a love that liberates people. — Tavis Smiley’s summary of Martin Luther King’s philosophy.

I have a dream, too
and on the cold days I fear
that a dream is all it will ever be

but when my boys are playing
laughing in the sun-warmed yard
I am hopeful for our future

/ / /

part of a river of stones

POEM: Perchance to dream

Posted 3 January, 2011 in Audio Poems, Family, My poems, Poetry

Listen to this poem using the player above.

/ / /

This is the first poem of the year for me, although it’s the third one to make it to this site in 2011. One note: The person 99% of you know as my father is not the person mentioned in this poem, which refers to my biological father.

Perchance to dream

On the first night in my new apartment –
after fifteen years of sleeping in our bed –
I closed the door to my bedroom,
pushed it tight until the latch clicked home.

On that first night I was a boy again,
waiting for the yellow eyes to appear
around the corner at the end of the hallway
like they had night after night when I was a child.

For years I was afraid of partially opened doors,
preferring to see nothing or to see everything;
to know what fate had in store the moment it
lumbered around the corner, thirsting for me.

Even earlier in childhood I’d had a similar dream.
I was in my bed in my pajamas with the feet on them,
and the door to the hallway was open and I could hear
the footsteps, the heavy pounding on the wooden floor.

One night my mother came through the bedroom window,
snuck in under cover of darkness and spirited me away
from the party going strong in the living room
while my drunk father was supposed to be watching me.

I don’t know when he first discovered I was gone
or what he did next. I like to imagine him in a panic,
searching for me, tearing the house apart, tears on his cheeks –
like he failed to do all those years.

But I’m sure it was nothing so dramatic. Probably a phone call
to my grandparents’ apartment on Main Street.
My grandfather would have picked up the phone in his quiet way.
“Yes, they’re here. They’re sleeping.”

POEM: half

Posted 28 December, 2010 in Audio Poems, Family, My poems, Poetry

Listen to this poem using the player above.

Technically, my sister and I are half-siblings. But that’s only true in DNA terms. I wrote this poem for her as her Christmas present. The picture below is of us, just after I read it to her on Christmas morning. I love you, Sis.

half
(for my sister)

that word has no meaning
Watson and Crick might say half
but I love you completely
love isn’t based on a sequence
of nucleotides, on the order of
adenine, cytosine, guanine and thymine
love has to account for history
has to factor in changing tables
and wide smiles in baby seats
remember when –
but of course you do, your memory
is better than mine
I’ve been away much longer
than we were together
I’ve missed too much of your life
I don’t know the stories
don’t recognize the names
if it weren’t for photographs
I’d remember even less
and yet you’ve never wavered
never had a harsh word
you’re what everyone hopes for
what I hope for
you’re a gift I’m still unwrapping
a mirror in which a better man is reflected

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