A Tree Grows
A tree grows in Brooklyn.
It’s a book I never read,
But the strong twist of branches,
Higher than my windowsill,
Stands guard at my fire escape.
I love to watch the lights go on and off,
In the windows across the way.
A tree grows.
My body remembers you faster than my heart does.
I move in your embrace,
My eyes grow red and I try to teach my lungs to breathe,
In time to your rhythm.
The first time is always a little slow, a little awkward.
But you meet me and I love our push and pull,
So familiar after all this time.
Kiss me before its time to let you go again,
Until next time.
A few weeks ago, my car had to go into the shop for an oil change.
My mom told me, “Go call Abuela, see if she can drive you.”
She arrived early, made sure I got to the train with time to spare,
And for all the grousing about waking up early, I walked out of the Path at World Trade on time.
Fifteen years ago this September, and I am still blessed to go and ask Abuela.
I know I should quit you.
You are magic,
Beautiful things float past my eyes and I could stay in here forever.
But at the end of the day it’s just a dream.
I know I should quit you,
Roses and all.
Let beautiful colorful flowers be.
Early Thursday Evening
I’m searching for words.
I know I haven’t written in a while,
So I don’t know where to find them.
Eventually life becomes a groove and it’s easy to forget,
How easy it is to be.
I love the way the train sways me to sleep in the mornings.