Who am I
To hear the morning birds
And think
They might sing for me?
And who are they
To sing
so sweetly?
Jul 1, 2024
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The sweet resonant coo from nearby my bedroom window seems to have followed me from Brooklyn, NY to Long Beach, CA… Its persistent cadence, has become a point of fixation, a symbol of some continuity across landscapes. And while beautiful…its haunting refrain, unyielding and insistent, reflects the relentless march of time, a reminder that even amidst change, certain constants endure, anchoring me to the past as I navigate a very uncertain future…
Apr 27, 2024
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it’s great when I’m able to romanticize my daily life when things seem mundane. to be able to be grateful for what I have rather than focusing on what I don’t. that’s not to say that I think you shouldn’t question your situation and to be complicit, but sometimes for the time being you don’t have a choice. so it’s better to look on the bright side of things. I’ve heard the quote that the grass is greener where you water it and I believe that to be true to an extent. I’m also reminded of a poem that’s stuck with me for a while. it’s title is Aimless Love by Billy Collins and it goes like this:
This morning as I walked along the lake shore,
I fell in love with a wren
and later on in the day, a mouse
the cat had dropped under the dining room table.
In the shadows of an autumn evening,
I fell for a seamstress
still at her machine in the tailor’s window,
and later for a bowl of broth,
steam rising like smoke from a naval battle.
This is the best kind of love, I thought,
without recompense, without gifts,
or unkind words, without suspicion,
or silence on the telephone.
The love of the chestnut,
the jazz cap and one hand on the wheel.
No lust, no slam of the door—
the love of the miniature orange tree,
the clean white shirt, the hot evening shower,
the highway that cuts across Florida.
No waiting, no huffiness, or rancor—
just a twinge every now and then
for the wren who had built her nest on a low branch overhanging the water
and for the dead mouse,
still dressed in its light brown suit.
But my heart is always standing on its tripod,
ready for the next arrow.
After I carried the mouse by its tail to a pile of leaves in the woods,
I found myself standing at the bathroom sink gazing down affectionately at the soap,
so patient and soluble,
so at home in its pale green soap dish.
I could feel myself falling again as I felt its turning in my wet hands and caught the scent of the lavender and stone.
May 17, 2025
a few years back, i met a wandering poet in new orleans. after talking for a bit, he wrote this for me. to this day, it is still one of my most treasured possessions.
it’s strange how connected we all are. the human experience is not so singular or unique. and that is kind of comforting.
Jan 20, 2025
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