it’s unusually warm for November
tonight I’ll be in Brooklyn again
ready to say my goodbyes
16 November 2013
Oak Street
Category: Oak Street
the sound of a big truck
or a hard, cold November wind
pushes me deeper under the blanket
12 November 2013
Oak Street
ending
the flame is hot and bright
at the tip of the incense
it looks miles above the pot
of white ash waiting below
a puff of air through pursed lips
brings forth the smoke
and the smell of winter nights
on tatami floors, hot mugs
of green tea fitting
perfectly in cold hands
further down now, the ember
no longer glows, but
the smoke is heavier in the air
it catches the beams of the
autumn sun through the
narrow kitchen window
this is the time to sit quietly
to follow the breath
to be aware of the sounds
of cars on the street
wind in the bathroom vent
the stick is burned down
nearly to the bed of ash
it doesn’t know, of course
that in a moment it will end
its brief flame snuffed out
nothing left but the lingering
scents of clove and cinnamon
captured as tiny grains floating
in the last rays of sunshine
10 November 2013
Oak Street
smoke from a new stick of incense
fills the cold room
with the scent
of a Japanese temple
or the small room
on the second floor
I used to meditate in
the one I had to unlock
with a kitchen knife
9 November 2013
Oak Street
melissa bell
I can’t decide
whether to mention
in the context of this poem
that I’m listening to Miles Davis
reduce a bunch of young stoned minds
to
their
constituent
parts
at the Fillmore East in the Year of our Lord 1970
I only bring it up because some-
times there are
moments
brief
inescapable
when someone holds up the mirror to your reality
reminds you that you
YES YOU
are part of this immense wash of struggling humanity
and that you
YES YOU
can, if you choose, stand straighter and walk taller
and really this poem isn’t about Miles Davis at all
it’s just that as a white man recently turned 40
watching these two icons of black feminism
all I can say is yes
and thank you
and I am on my front line
and they are on their front lines
and when I look to the
left or right
I want to see melissa and bell
and I want to hear the cry of Miles Davis’s trumpet
and
then
we
move
forward
8 November 2013
Oak Street
/ / /
This poem was inspired by listening to this and this.
2 Commentslong distance
I whisper something
into the tiny microphone
of the phone in my hand
which translates my words
into ones and zeros
sends them, via the antenna
to a tower I can just
make out
on a nearby mountain
from there my understanding
is fuzzy at best
I imagine my binary digits
shooting into the sky
breaking through the atmosphere
like invisible astronauts
on their way to the moon
they’re intercepted
by orbiting satellites
flipped like racing swimmers
against the wall of an Olympic pool
before being hurled back down
through several layers of clouds
the adventurous numbers zoom
straight toward another tower
then out to the antenna on the phone
you hold as you lie on your bed
waiting for my voice in your ear
7 November 2013
Oak Street
auto dealership soundscape
clang
he bangs the metal pole in the showroom
with the school ring on his right hand
thwack
the storage room door is next
a wooden slap like water against a boat
clack-clack
his shined shoes clomp out an uneven rhythm
on the square tiles of the lobby floor
sigh
but no one is coming in today
and there’s nothing to do but wait
6 November 2013
Oak Street
“friends”
I don’t even know them when I see their names
I have no recollection of ever having met them
I examine each face, hoping to trigger a memory
I think that maybe if I could see them from another
angle, I’d know who they are
I worry sometimes that the people I really do know
don’t need me in their lives
I wonder whether all these other people, floating
on the edge of my awareness, are slowly
taking the place of touches and laughter
I go through the lists, trimming here and there
I feel somewhat more satisfied when this is finished
I do all of this in a room with one table and two chairs
I can hear the neighbors laughing downstairs
I stop to listen, close my eyes, join them
5 November 2013
Oak Street
at north atherton and west aaron
she was crying into her phone
as she walked across the
nearly empty bank parking lot
“nothing is right” she sobbed
I caught her eye because
what else could I do
she looked away quickly
not embarrassed, just too
ensnared by heartache
to do anything but watch
half-heartedly for passing cars
trying to save her body
from what was clearly
happening to her soul
4 November 2013
Oak Street
Bernie turns 11
the cold is a shock
as we step outside
I put one arm around him
kiss his cheek
remembering
when I could hold
his entire body
with that same arm
3 November 2013
Oak Street
writing after an unplanned nap
half awake like moving in Jello-O
(“J-E-LL-O means the Jell-O family”
floats into my head from before I was born)
eyes stinging, mouth dry, brain leaden and fuzzy
staring at the screen like the words
will write themselves if I wish hard enough
I cradle my jaw in my left hand
momentarily lost in a reverie
thinking that any second now I’m going to
delete this poem and start over again
like I always do
2 November 2013
Oak Street
snapshot
cold morning rain gives way
to an uncommonly warm November day
my windows are open to let in the songs
of the birds who haven’t left yet
2 November 2013
Oak Street
you’re a pain in the ass
like the way you’re always
making me laugh so hard
or when I’m at work you
make me think of you
my cheeks get red and
my heart beats too fast
we barely know one another
but we know one another
better than either of our
partners ever could
there’s an open door now
we’re on either side of it
I guess the question is:
will either of us go through?
31 October 2013
Oak Street
request
late-October sunlight
through the blinds
I’m lying in bed
asking you to come here
so I can see
what you’ll look like
when the sun hits your hair
and highlights the freckles
all over your body
30 October 2013
Oak Street
519
the sunlight from
the unseen window
bright hair framing
the soft lines of your face
your necklace dropping
below the photo’s edge
(the suggestion as tantalizing
as the image itself)
the sharp, familiar vowels
of my childhood
as close as the phone
as far as another planet
29 October 2013
Oak Street