mikey,

I saw the snow and I was filled with wonder. I saw the snow and it was falling, thick, puffy pieces finding their way gently to the ground. Finding lost brothers and sisters, aunts and uncles and cousins. Look they’re getting together, they’re getting ready to party. I saw the snow blanket the street, the car at the curb, the lawn, the driveway, the car in the driveway, the steps to the porch, a blanket across the porch. I saw the snow falling and how it covered everything and it was pure and white and lovely and a quiet understanding that this was just for me, maybe, if we were good, it would last a little longer for all of us. I saw the snow and remembered you in it, I remember you bursting with laughter, missing front teeth, so many years missing those two front teeth. And between then and now the teeth have come in, the smile just as charming, even more so. Making snow angels, a joyous glee, a sense of utter reckless joy. Which I saw from the window, wishing you were next to me, watching it fall.


ioanna,

The year ends, the year wraps up, we look over our shoulders and wonder where did it all go. What did we do, who did we dance with, where were the edges, what have we seen? The year ends, it wraps itself around us, gentle collage, vivid bright hues, warm sunlight, moonlit shade, the trace of a song whose hook is on the edge of our tongues. A deep yearning, a resolution, an accounting of promises. The year ends, we look over our shoulders, we gage its momentum, what will carry us forward, what got us here, what have we left behind? New habits, bad habits, new routines, new footsteps. We remember, this is how you walk, one foot in front of another. The year ends, wraps around our shoulders, comforts us, pours us hot coco and asks us if we want marshmallows. Who says no to marshmallows, no one says no to marshmallows. The comfort of the past, warm mug cupped in our hands, cuddled together, we look ahead. We look under the tree, just right there, to see what the present will bring us.


my love,

My love my love my love my love me love my love my love my love who I cannot complete my love I that I could not imagine my love I dreamt and wept and suddenly found by happenstance my love where we cuddled in the cold where we lazily bared with the heat my love we’ve walked miles and miles together through concrete through mountains through snow banks through bitter winds through sudden rainstorms that we laughed at my love there can never be enough christmases there can never be enough presents there can never be enough lights or ornaments or wreaths or mistletoe my love there can be never be enough of my love there can never be enough of the little ones tearing through gift wrapping papers and the utter joyous destruction of passionate children born of my love my love my love my love my love my love my love my love my love

always,
me

I walk through the streets. My city. My people: the lost, the annoyed, the angry, the oblivious. We’re all going somewhere and everyone else is in the way.

I weave, I thread my way through to get underground: entranced sightseers, daring teenagers, nurses off double shifts, exquisitely tailored bros. All in my way. They stand between my city and our home.

Because the city belongs only to me, it is mine. The city is a proud, lonely place. it’s for cutting teeth and harsh wind tunnels and sweaty piles of garbage. It’s for drunken wild moon nights and sober blistering days in the park. It is not for friends or for lovers. It is not for families. It is for your soul only. It is for your very own sense of brutality and kindness.

But, our home, our home belongs to all of us. It’s where I can breathe and be held. Where I can find rest. It’s where I can be touched with warmth, by his mischievous smile when he tells a lie, her pout when I refuse to play the guitar with her, and of course you: where there is no me, there is only us and ours.

And between my city and our home they all crowd in my way: miserable waiting on the corner, miserable crossing the street, miserable in the stairways, the tunnels, miserable on the train, miserable between seats. Misery sitting next to me.

I wish I could tell them, lean over and whisper into their ear, I know, I know why you are the way you are: my city doesn’t love you and you don’t have a home.