In a world where nation lifts up sword against nation
I’m opting out
because It’s not about
Fighting the inevitable
Or trying to hold on
to the minute hand
as it drags my feet in the sand
when watching the clock is as eternal as the mortal battle against the
immortal
Inevitability of time.
And The time we do spend in this world
is characterized by demons eyes
Conducting one mans sword to another mans chest
And minutes are reversed
from present moments of knowing you
To a context of past tense
Leaving me with memory of knowing you
I knew you
When u were alive
Before you were survived
By your two year old son, Moishie
Because the race against time was rigged
Two men playing god
Pulled the battery from the clocks belly
And its quiet in this moment of solitude
Blood on the floor,
seconds beckon
To return to that audible beckoning
Tick tock.
And I knew you when you were alive
On that humid, monsoon eve
At about five
We knocked on your door
And fell like worn travelers
Onto your floor
And into your smell
Of Challah bread
And our family You fed
And the four of us you led
To rooms with made-up beds
And asked us to rest
On your chest
Not literally
But figuratively
And honestly
You were kind
With others in mind
At all times
Rabbi- you arrived
At about nine
After the synagogue services that you revived
Had ended.
And Rivki, you waited
For your husband and your guests
As if
You had been waiting your whole life
To give us a slice
Of that challah bread.
In a world where nation lifts us sword against nation, you gave us refuge.
Amen.

You Never Can Tell

For five years I loved him
Outloud
In earshot
I shot him a glance
That pearced his heart
And left a permanent mark
We were in critical care in the ICU
When I saw him
Everywhere.
Swimming in one another’s love
Even the blood we shared
Shouted life or death and life and death in the rhythmic pumping of our joint heart
But You never can tell
What you can’t tell about a person
Even with adjoining plastic tubes in our blue green veins.
You see,
You Wanna Talk about Guns?
I once caressed his hand with
The black mess
That was left
From cleaning the
barrel,
carrying handle
echad, shtaim, shalosh!
…and that’s the count
so for now
im taking this machine
this m-16
apart
Only to Put it back together again?
Like that story about humpty dumpty
When he fell off that wall
Or just went plain a-wol
Or was a cigarette break from his shift
At the mall?
Who can tell-
When you cant tell what you can tell about a person-
Because the weapon in this hand
Is no toy
It’s the real mcoy
and boy
you disintegrated
Into one million pieces
And now there no body where body once stood
Because you never can tell what you cant tell about a person
Because the one thing I cant tell
Is time
In this rhyme
And record,
When its on the rewind
And the dj takes it back
Just like that
And gives us a second chance
For romance
And you never can tell what you cant tell about a person
Because I thought the first one
Would be trustworthy
And I know im wordy
But let me make it clear that you
Just
cant
tell.

Metro Route 90

It rains in that moment of quiet
When I lie and tell myself I won’t judge
(fitting for this Day of Judgment night)
I over-stimulate on a simple walk,
Soberly searching for objective answers.
I am the branch of a tree and I welcome harsh wind and soft rain,
With my roots buried and protected
Underground and underneath sidewalk,
Few things can find their way to me, subjectify-me.
Across the Duke Ellington Bridge, the 90 Bus route, by foot.
Upside-down, orange-grease stained Paper plates, get out of my way!
Humble in their weight,
I watch them shift tectonic plates from the burden of these bodies,
Faceless in fleeting moments of this city’s life.
Sitting on this ground you wave a drunken hand in my face,
And I think,
‘You should respect me
Because I’ve been here longer.’
But the only way to know that is to love this city,
And the only way to love this city-
If you want to love it at all,
Is by the rhythm of your own footsteps,
Move right, left, right, dodging and embracing.
I’m getting wet.
I will pass the two loving hands in front of me and offer my own to the warm fall breeze and rain,
And walk faster.
And the man at the bus stop talks about his non-parents,
Betrayal,
Pain,
And the strength to overcome challenges he didn’t ask for,
As if the Man put Roadblocks on his path the moment his head saw the fluorescent light he should soon come to know as natural,
He sends riddles with his eyes,
Asking me to marry?
Jumping into his arms I say yes! And we elope that very night…
Just kidding,
I used to believe in moment’s love,
Until two years have passed and I can only hope in love that lasts longer than that.
You might be the exception- you overgrown town,
The roots of me entangled in your world-below.
Above ground- Raindrops on my head.
And I wrap my pashmina
Like my great-great grandmother did
In her city
That city she cold never love,
She could only leave.
Two refugees from a city that wouldn’t love them back
Because at the moment of their birth,
Some He with a capitol ‘H’ put Stumbling blocks in front of them,
Them! The ones born without eyes?
And they wouldn’t have it any other way.
‘One wife and a gun,’
As the story goes.
My star of David story.
And it rains.

Bleeding for the Anocostia

I dreamt you rolled your sleeves
To bare flesh I didn’t recognize,
Your arm I once knew so well!

In those days we were linked,
Mind, body , spirit
In Sync.
Our blood pumped
side by side, mixed
potion
Flowed into one red, heart-shaped ocean

But the flesh you bore last night
Was unrecognizable.

Red vertical lines had your arm in a chokehold.
Red mourning plight.
I had no words.
Like a lonely bird
I thought of you,
Alone,

No one to lift you out of your drowning.
No one to save your arm, covered in skin so pure
Like snow white.
I should have known something so red and sweet would poison
You
Silent
All
The
while.

But if you would have screamed!
I would have rowed the red river to your heart and rescued you.
I scream for both of us and wake myself up, sweat soaked, in bed.
I dress and bike to the river,
Expecting deep red lines webbing themselves around her so that
Beauty is disguised, life- invisible.
But there is no red, only concrete shades of tan
A fishing net
Black wire
Concrete paths
Brown dirt spots the cement playground
At least a red sea would have been a sign of recent life
Recent cycles,
So predictable, only man can break
Only man can tear our linked arms apart.
Only man can make you ugly
Can poison your purity.

waiting for a letter

you would think this would get better 

and i'm sorry 

for waiting

for waiting

for wailing

for wishing

it's just when

this wire comes between us

black wire 

like tight rope over fire

a shaky walk

was yesterday the day it was easy?

what happened?

was yesterday our anniversary?

I forget what i'm celebrating! 

i fall

flesh bruises

black and blue on white

i know this bruise is permanent

like a tattoo, or a battle scar.

Sitting at Big Bear

So much on my mind

at least I don't have roaches on my mind as I recently moved out of the roach box and into a beautiful house on Florida and First

I'm so sick of men, I really am, why has every single one been such a disappointment?! (Except one of course, to which the disappointment came in the circumstances themselves, all wrapped up in ribbons and bows)

I never realized how much I relied on noise to keep me company-

without a TV or internet, there are no familiar voices to fill that thick fall-evening silence,

i need friends, so many friends to be here, men, women, eyes, hands, 

what made regina go to that protest just to rub up against strangers?

busy busy, books and dreams

i have to close me eyes or lose my thoughts in other people's for a moment.

VCB-2

I saw it again,

and just like last time, it made me crave red wine

and conversation about life

and love

and so we did

a back and forth

about fear

about living life for you or for others

about depth, about surface

interactions

pleasant mounts and morgans

should I get a cat for these roaches?

should I go to law school?

should I buy that second amstel light?

should I be so scared of graduating?

should I still be missing you?

should I go back to san francisco?

should I ignore your phone calls?

should I shower now or later?

should I eat these egg-less pancakes?

should I care that you didn't say good night?

should I buy single or double ply?

should I know what i want by now?

vicky christina barcelona

as the intoxicating penelope cruz puts it, 

does christina have 'chronic dissatisfaction?'

or in the words of javier bardem (melt...) has she just yet to find what she's looking for?

and so she tries and tastes and loves until her head catches up to her heart

and with no regrets- she's on a new path

different- but carrying the last one with her to the next.

My Blury eyes

Cloud the 20-20 vision 

I have of you

And there you go again

The dreamcatcher couldn't even catch you

Flying by

Like fast cars

Headlights make way to hindsight

And the if-only's

And the blue moon

Is the same one we swam under 

And it's pregnant at it's roundest

And I'm fine

Because it's silly to think you wouldn't follow me

Into my night sky.

i have yet to figure out appropriate roommate etiquette...

at what point in the oh-so wee hours of the morning does it become ok to say 

'shut the fuck up?'

or is it better to politely step out into the hallway, try to get your roommates attention, (who is at present preoccupied in a pillow fight with a nameless girl from adams morgan...) and ask if he could 'please turn down the music-'

i go with the latter, but really it's just  is just a euphemism for the former... in other words, i really asked you to shut the fuck up, i just happened to say the words 'can you turn it lower?'

but what does all that matter anyways on a sunday afternoon when you are too tired to leave your bedroom, and not because you went out in your new BCBG Paris heels, but because all that came out of your mouth last night was timid euphemism, three hours too late...

and just when i thought dc was small

he showed me this spot

looking over the potomac

like my spot in jersey looking over the bridge

where i go to think

cuz for some reason when cars look that small on the bridge 

they're really that small, for a few moments

and speaking of moments

we saw a shooting star

and i swear it came from no where

it just came

from talking about moments

we made it fall so we could remember that moment for a long time

and it was so peaceful

just two people

nothing more

nothing less

no yesterdays or tomorrows 

the only way to just be

hearts and clothes

why do so many people come in and out of your life so fast? 

it makes me want to lock myself in my room sometimes to guarantee a non-meeting of sorts...

because you know what happens- it's simple logic:

if you have love in your heart 

and you wear your heart on your sleeve, or as someone once said to me ('keep my screen door open') 

then the chances that some of your heart may end up on the sleeve of another? 

are high

and if they do end up on another's sleeve, then there's no getting it back

then again, i can't have it both ways because, as i started this blog off- aren't we all walking around this city looking for some intimacy? for someone to rub shoulders with and exchange pieces of your heart?

District of Connection

sometimes it's so small- a big town you might say...

'jewish geography' doesn't compare.

TO BE a woman OR NOT TO BE a woman?

shouldn't we start calling all young girls- 'little women?' lousia may alcott was on point and i propose we follow suit. because when exactly do we graduate form 'girlhood?' - the time old question i guess. 'coming-of-age,' adolescence, all these names for something that may not even exist. 

it's like twilight- the day's over, and you know it because the sun's setting but it's also too light for stars. but do those ambigous hours mean there's an actual time called 'twilight,' or is it just because we've named it and so we think it does? (ok, philosophical I know, but if you can follow that- continue reading...) because at 'the end of the day' its just 24 hours of clocks ticking, church bells ringing...

if 'little girls' were told from the start that they were 'women', we would put up with less crap- no more cat calls because i'm no little girl (no cat either, no 'snowflake- yes i got that one yesterday...) i'm a woman! the future mother of your children, so don't mess- at six, sixteen or sixty... 

i thought about this as michelle and i made friends with brianna- six years old with a neon green swimsuit at the pool on 14th and arkansas. holding her breath underwater, braids afloat, all  to show us how well she could swim. and then making circles around us to listen to our conversation? get our attention? get a glimpse into what it's like to be so grown? so womanly? well brianna- you don't have to make circles around us to figure all that out- you are your own best friend, role model, woman. don't take any crap form anyone because you are so beautiful in that neon green suit.

if you let it- this city can be so romantic. well i think summer nights are romantic anyway, and if you happen to be picnicking in meridian hill park at ten pm, your chances for romance increase-significantly. 

and if there is a blonde woman with a guitar singing joni mitchell? well then you know two little girls with blonde curls will be dancing to their mother's song.

and you will want to twirl with them- especially in that light- where the street-lamps hug the trees.

and maybe a familiar face will appear- and you will shake his hand because you have to- because he looks like someone you made breakfast for once-

eggs and toast, a walk to the beach where you dug your feet in the sand and listened to his story-

that was a long time ago, although you're not be that old- looking at these stars makes you feel wrinkled with age.

Pennies in a Fountain

What happens when you throw a penny in the fountain at Dupont Circle? I'm a whitness to teh facts- drunk man wades in fountain to collect coins.

So i'm sitting by the fountain listening to my soulful summer mix, reading the Style section of the Post. (Can you picture that? What a life I lead...) 

But the best thing about being there is my dinner date with Michelle- Udon Noodle Soup at Raku ($8) and because we're feeling extra cultured, we wander into Kramer Books- Of course I had t leave my Style section outside- tied up while I mingled inside the book store con Bloggers-with-Haircuts. But we didn't stay long- Post gets possessive over my attention span... 

something simple like the color of your son
or eyes, mine yellow, like fever high at none
heat "creep"s like tlc from above
who knew id be a "legend", days of fame and fun
like will smith alone in a city of one
"no more i love you's", annie said it best
swim through thick red syrup, clear white liquid, now rest
underwater, like ghost, invisible like hosts
of that virus. to think its just me under that suit
frontal lobe agrees, futile heart is ruth-
less, or ruth-more, either way this song's a toast
to maybe yes and maybe no- he loves me right, i love me most


'it's a girl'

(She will be your queen-
A Princess her daughter.)
Your spirit
Flows back and forth
up and down
in and out
as Her lungs rise and collapse
open and close
But what happens in that moment in between?
Before the collapse, after the rise-
Are you alone in this thought?
What matters now is to keep Breathing into those corners of Her earth
Although Her earth is corner-less
Her earth is a labyrinth
Of immortal mockingbird song
That move Her river's flow
What became of your love?
That hardening brown mud you dug up from the backyard-
You Plead! with time, to hold still- before it dries.
The world is bigger now than ever and it's rotation makes your head spin.
Catching up with time is possible only by counting Her rhythmic breath
Modest rhythm like Mount Sinai
A golden calf will never lead her astray.
She will be moved by the sky's treasure
She will sit atop the modest mountain conducting silver lightening with thundering strength.

http://www.dclibrary.org/dcpl/cwp/view.asp?a=11&q=569635

here is a link to my 'published' short story

The Survivor in Us All

I think that living on a budget- (which for some of us means flipping your apartment upside down for bus fare) is like getting in touch with survivor instincts-

it's too easy living off others (mom and dad?)

if we were meant to be parasites, we would have stayed five years old forever I guess...

I have graduated into animal-hood and joining the pack!

I'd crawl in a Hole, but They'd Follow...

I lie not when I tell you that on my walk back to the bus a man passed me dangling a dead rat-

not a mouse, (something I may have even sympathized for) no- a RAT...

The reason I was out and about so early to begin with was to feed my caffeine addiction, since I felt ostracized from my own kitchen and couldn't brew my own, the way I like it, for free, my flavor, the right amount of milk, no loud coffee orders being yelled about behind the bar- just me, my kitchen, my coffee...

what's up with tryst anyways- do people actually work there? or just stand around looking trendy? I know- it's been said before, but- I mean, really! I'm sitting at the bar for ten minutes before one of the nine thousand servers catch my fiery look of a stare and ask me what i want- two minutes later I'm wondering what it would cost to get a full cup of coffee. 

All in the Tribe

So I met my Jewish counterpart recently- I saw her last night, which was the second time we've ever met and people were telling us we were acting like best friends-

I get all 'planny' with people I'm excited about- like I know together we're powerful enough to take over the world and I just want to start- now!!

And some people can take my craziness for what it is- let the adrenaline runs it's course before I even out a bit-

And others? Well they freak I guess- did I mention this was mostly men?

You know- that other species that eats, breathes and does all the other actions to make it seem like they are part of the human race...

Me vs. Them

Talk about interactions in this city-

My first one of the morning consists of my usual exchange with them- a girly scream.

I guess this early it's like warming up your voice (for all the rest of the exchanges I will have with them throughout the day...)

They are quite the invasive ones- getting into my coffee pot- I give up at this point!

My roommate 'bombed' our kitchen but still makes me feel like I'm the crazy one, because- uhhh, i notice them? It's hard not to when you feel like you are sharing your kitchen with fifty other chefs,- well more like food critics; you cook, they eat what they like...

Not everything is about sex...

Mich-In-The-City was inspired by the oh-so inspirational hit TV show, Sex and the City; taking two forces and chronicling their interactions. Sex as one force- the city as the other. Because aren't we all walking around this city yearning for sex? Well not sex per-say, but some kind of intimacy? Let's get one thing straight before we continue, I may be the first use the term 'the city' when referring to DC (and not NY) but I guess I'm a pioneer like that-

So I will dedicate this blog to all interactions noteworthy- all encounters that make this city- 'the city.'