Poems from New York #8

finding grapefruit gems in the bowels of my hard drive… 

One morning in Maine

I discovered that grapefruit

Can be eaten

With brown sugar

 

This was in the same

town in Maine

where I discovered that grown men

whistle at 12 year old girls

 

Yesterday I told myself

to claim the fact

that feminism is a key research concern

in my work.

 

No more hiding

from what I have known

there comes a time

when we are done.

Poems from New York, #7 

New York 

Is a mug of hot cocoa balanced precariously on my hip flexor, 

deep psoas, not yet sore from class 

with Bryan Strimpel, as I listen to George Strait on Pandora and I read Patti Smith talk about New York, over 30 years ago. 
She dropped different names (John Coltrane John Lennon) and took her jelly doughnuts with coffee. 
But perhaps in some ways, it is still the same city. 

Poems from New York, #5

Les choses que tu fait 

The days that are good

are when the desire to dance

is strong.

Those days

it comes out in all my actions.

On the subway ~ in writing

Les jours quand je voudrais danser

et je ne peux pas

mais, yes I can. Just not in class

 

I am back in high school

the same journal

the basement bedroom of a boy

almost having sex

almost caring about a Rubik’s cube

probably wanting to dance

inside.

 

Maintenant c’est tout un rythme

and nothing matters but

following the thread of movement

energy through to the end.

This is how to write poems.

This is how to live life.

Danser. Arrêter. Danser encore.