Are we a ‘Family’?
Are we a ‘family’
When miles apart,
Faces on a screen
If zoom actually starts?
Are we a ‘family’
When inches apart
Crammed into dorm rooms
We cannot depart?
Are we a ‘family’
When 6 ft apart
masked and unable
To hug from the heart?
The Calendar's Colors
Cold crisp absence
Emerald tips
Hued blooms
Olive, pear, and lime shafts
Fire
Cinnamon
Dark chocolate
Cold crisp absence again
I’m From
I’m from Ayr Hill Avenue
Where I’m taller than trees,
Crepe myrtles and supple maples the only things younger than
The new huge houses standing behind them.
I’m from roads blaring with car horns
Leafy green backyards and mirages on hot turf fields
Stages for tackle football and capture-the-flag
I’m from kitchens ringing with the voices of friends or Abba or Michael Jackson
The crunch of salty toffee and pretzels in my after school chobani flip
And pepperoni pizza with phineas, ferb, and my family
I keep my memories in letters and notes in a striped box under my bed,
In a cold silver chipotle booth,
And the wind, fog and summer sun of Cape Cod summers.
“6 feet”
“6 feet”
I’ll scream.
“No dine-in”
I’ll cry.
“Online”
I’ll stream.
“Mask up”
I’ll comply.
But “Stay in”
I’ll defy.
Sunday Hospitality
The room hummed with the flow of people.
Hands stretched
through crevices
between bodies not their own
to grab slices of
red peppers or aged cheddar.
“The tray is hot,” mom cautioned, pulling
Costco’s crispy spanakopita from the oven.
Over the chatter I’d hear her laugh,
airy and soft one moment,
Merry and hearty the next,
As some cheeky idea sprung from her lips.
I saw my Dad at the kitchen chalkboard,
his forehead wrinkling as he tried
to tally the swimming heads.
Other laughs rang out -
mom was telling a story.
Dad caught my eyes
and we smiled.
Surprised
A basket with no twisted teas
Forrest green top and worn sperrys
A late night t swift candy spree
The rush of happiness surprised me