BIGGER SKY

Urban climbing up
concrete hills, what
season is it anyway?

Four straight days
of light-flooded windows
spark new leaves
on the basil plant.

I said it many times:
I need a bigger sky,
larger moon-stage,
vast and brooding.

On that shallow shore
just north of here: why
are the boats left
floating free all night?

What small city sparkles
to the east? Why can’t
I keep the ocean’s west
location ever straight?

And can I keep this
golden fondness with
me past autumn?

COMMUTERS ARE MUTE

Turned out onto Washington:
the great industrial avenue.
Busy in the morning.

Lumber yards, warehouses
of lighting fixtures
huge slabs of marble.

All the men say good morning.
Workers say good morning.
Commuters are mute.

SKY

South Philadelphia

MISGUIDED GOALS

I want to be the woman
who somehow deflected
all the ‘you should
be this ways’ so
that what I want
to suck from
life is just only
mine.

Tonight, I stood in
the grocery store line
and beamed at the
carrots, lemon cookies,
honey yogurt on the
rubber belt.

I had this thought:
I am healthy, vibrant,
active, content and why
should anything
remind me to watch
my waistline?

AUTUMN MORNINGS IN PHILADELPHIA

What it takes is
not thought but
action, rejecting
the snooze button,
flowing in a
a soft pocket of
warmth into
the early morning
chill.

The silver
diamond-patterned
food cart on the sidewalk
puffing its essential
oniony fumes
and kaleidoscope
reflecting
a new sun.

Gone is the summer
air, which incubates
into stew of
nothingness.

Autumn mornings isolate
on white, like a museum
of scents held hostage.

Punched into the
sweet aroma of
wood shavings from
the lumber warehouse
as I turn onto 18th,

suddenly grateful for
the icy tug at my
ankles, the blue
wind pulling
gentle fingers in
my auburn curls,
wondering how
to dismantle that
snooze option
altogether.

my philly

Philadelphia.

THE DAY’S LAST MINUTES

Certain of nothing now
but smiling
and the pup, sighing tired
sighs in my lap.

Possibility
of the day’s last minutes
growing limp like wilted
radish greens.

What I could start
and not finish
haunts me.

Dinner was invented,
destroyed, and the dishes
speak of a modern, though
pointless porcelain sculpture.

And isn’t that the point?
Dinner?

Take what’s whole,
divide into pieces,
put back together with grace.

If only it were
Groundhog Day.

groundhog day 2