awakening of an afternoon nap
to the dark blank of evening –
Struck by headlights reversing into my room three storeys
and up from below,
Mommy, mommy, she must say
(It’s in Polish)
Mamo, Mamo, when are we coming to Granny’s again?
What’s for supper?
Why is there no colour in the night?
Anchor her voice to sleep –
so much is weightless in a country where
you don’t speak the language
that when something
you hold on as hard as you can.
am new york
free morning daily
history in the making
i watched my abc
want to read my poetry on the train
can’t help guilt
this ordinary extraordinary ordinary
when my credit card won’t work
and we have fought
and the first black president of the United States was elected
and then the beggar moving from car to car
you’ve got your back to me and i have my head down and
am i crying for you or for me,
and if for me than not for you for me for us
a dollar and a tear, won’t you?