The First 50
While growing up in Spanish Harlem – El Barrio as we knew it during the exhilarating years of the 1970s and 80s – diversity was my monarch, acceptance my culture, and faith my freedom.
Stories Poems Essays
Dreamers Magazine Issue 4
I’m pleased to announce the release of Issue 3 of the Dreamers Magazine. In this issue you’ll find…
The Body as Poem
A new mother doesn’t need words to pray. Her body is a pulsing prayer in motion. If there’s a part or fiber of her body not engaged in nurturing I don’t know of it.
Recovery
On a long inland lake shaped like a kidney bean, banked by low cliffs and surrounded by miles of boreal forest, brooded over by a solid grey sky, a lone canoe zigs and zags about the central waters…
In the Blink of an Eye, Risk Taking, Afterfall
in a split second | life shifts | you fall | not sure if | you heard it correctly | sprawled on the ground | truth has you pinned | writing about death | placing it on paper
BLAME
Blame the promiscuous breeze of Chernobyl, diesel fumes, warp-walled genes. Blame payback. Blame the consorts of unhappiness, Freud shouting Get a grip.
The Plumber Takes a Son
Cooler by the lake was no longer heard on the evening news, and in the sunbaked hills that ringed town, the cherries—normally at market by now—clung to the trees like peas.
Sanctuary, and other poems
I’m a blondish plucked chicken underneath my burgundy scarf
though I thought I was bold and tough when I cut my hair short weeks ago ready with wigs and peacock-bright coverings
Oh Emma; Slow Dancing
If Lady Liberty could open her copper and iron lips and formulate words, would she emit French, a French accent? Would she say your fatigué, your pauvre, your huddled masses?