Week 1 – Hoyt-Schermerhorn


I am crammed on the A train,

Next to a man in an MTA hat. 

I nudge him as I wedge my body in,

We defy the laws of physics and he returns my smile and eye contact.


It is a small moment, but we are two people crammed in like sardines,

One of many stories,

Going home to our loved ones and our beds on this rainy Friday evening.


Our lives touch for a second, spiraling out like ribbons, greens and blues and the orange of the trains leaving the station.

I am struck by how we interact, human to human, soul to soul.


For one afternoon commute, I believe in hope. 


Week 33 – Cattails, Part 2

Cattails, Part 2

Dark December evenings,

Sitting on a train passing over the Passaic river,

Watching the lights slide and wondering if I’ll ever be better than I am.

I miss the sun in my hair and the wind off the water,

The faint saltwater on my skin.

The best thing and the only thing I know.

I can watch the phragmites dance along the tracks,

And in winter rain, they can almost be cattails. 

If I look hard enough, I sometimes can’t see the difference.

Week 27: Thoughts on the G Train the Morning After Election Day

Thoughts on the G Train the Morning After Election Day

I woke up this morning.

You could say it’s a different world.

My window is still cold,

The subway is still crowded,

Tatiana the crossing guard is still helping the little girls from down the block cross the street before school this morning.

I wake up, and the world keeps turning,

The sun still rises,

Trains keep moving and my rent is still due.

We can move forward,

It’s the only direction we’ve been given. 


Week 18 – Early Thursday Evening

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.


Week 15 – Cattails


I sit on an early morning train to New York City,

And it doesn’t even occur to me to think of you.


Instead, I watch the wind on the meadowlands,

And try to tell cattails from phragmites.


I wonder if the beauty,

Is that after all this time,

Some days, I still can’t tell the difference.