The Saddest Poem

Tonight I listened to a love song
of new found joy and adoration
and I cried
tears slid past my barricade aching with longing and envy

Tonight I made dinner enough for two
but ate your portion
to fill the empty space you left

Tonight I looked at all the beautiful faces you might gaze upon
instead of the homely, uneven me
passers by who may have visited my abandoned palace

Tonight I sat down to write you
a letter you will
Never
read
but still wanted the Universe to hear
in your absence
so that the echo might carry over some vibrational plane
A catalyst for perhaps a single thought
of me
in which love might have existed...
Instead of lies and deception
and hidden agendas such as those belonging to the cronies surrounding you.

That perhaps, beneath all of that
lay a single, beautiful, sincere cell
with axons and dendrites reaching out
like tattered butterfly wings
where nestled in it's innocent heart
beats a memory of me and love and passion
even if the rest of you has forgot.

This letter will remind
my home in you to not forget
Please little cell... stay mine forever and I promise
I will leave the rest of him alone.

Don't Forget Your Dreams

Reoccurring dreams will find those who run. Those who try to busy themselves with the endless demands of free market economies. Systems that suck time from our hands and youth from our faces. The dreams will find you and remind you to look and think and slow down. Then they will come again because once isn't enough...take another look. Take pause and clarify.
One of such dreams came to me...having had pet frogs most of my adolescent life, I thought it strange.

In my dreams, I still had my frogs, though they were all starving. They were so emaciated, their meatless legs could barely cling to the neglected tank's glass. Everyday I would get home from work, forgetting to bring my little amphibian friends a single cricket or bug that could bring their starving bodies back to life. The frog's eyes would sometimes flicker with hope, yet again, to have me look back at them with a sorrowful, "Oh, no! I forgot again..."

But the dreams did not cease, the frogs visited me every night until I spoke about them in my days. Recounting the tail to a co-worker, she replied, "Sounds like you aren't giving the things you love enough attention."
And bam, it hit me. Let these frogs remind you to. Do not forget your dreams, to do things that bring you joy, your hobbies, do not let them starve. For when you do, the dreams will come looking back for you.

Too Hot In Here

The fish in my aquarium--tropical fish from the Amazon and rainforests of Asia--are dying! It's too hot in New York right now. The heat wave has killed people I'm sure...but I have never seen tropical freshwater fish die from overheating in room temperature, and I have been taking care of fish for 20 years.

Today I lost 3 Harlequin Rasboras and 3 Cardinal Tetras. The last heatwave that came through about a month ago killed a rare plecostomus, for which I forgot the name and have not seen another.

Melting, I entered the elevator before I found the death pool waiting for me in my 99 degree apartment. A woman came in gasping for air.
"It's so bad," she said referring to the extreme heat oppressing us, still even at 11pm. "I had to call the ambulance yesterday."
"Oh no, what for?"
"I have asthma...and I can't breath in this. Listen to me...even now..." she couldn't complete her sentence without breaking for air. "I gotta get back to the air conditioner."
The doors opened and she quickly rushed to her apartment for relief. My "I hope you feel better" was met by the backs of her heels and a swinging elevator door.
I enter my apartment. It is an ungodly thing to open the door to your home and feel as if you are literally stepping into a sauna. As the thick, humid air wrapped around my sweaty body I am wondering wtf is up with New York? How can people live like this? This is not normal. Even my fish from tropical rainforests and the Amazon are dying.

Shake Her and She'll Only Get Stronger

There's this succulent plant that made it's way home with me from a local farmers market about a year ago. It has pudgy, bulbous little leaves that are attached to a slender, string like stem that curves and twists wildly in every direction.

"Strange looking little guy," I thought as I carried it home. It was so delicate that it's bulgy little leaves fell off at the slightest touch.

It made it to my apartment half naked from the trip. I moved it to a window seal with a lot of light, but every time hands brushed against it more leaves fell off. A strong wind would blow through the open window and even more leaves fell from the stems. By now, the everyday challenges of life had left the plant looking starved, dilapidated, and half-dead.

"Stupid plant! Why are you so delicate?!" I complained out loud at the very sight of it.
Then one day, as I was watering my contained botanical collections, I noticed something in the soil under the naked stems of my struggling succulent. Every bulby leaf that had fallen off and landed in the dirt had begun to grow roots, each forming a brand new plant.

All of a sudden, I realized how little I actually knew about the plant. The very flaws I attributed to the strange little creature turned out indeed to be it's strengths. How amazing and talented the plant had become, and the only thing that had changed was me.
How amazing nature is...to make a living creature that grows, even multiples every time it is shaken. If only I could be so strong!

Growing Through It

It poked it's little head through the crack as tires whizzed dangerously by

Feet stomped past, quickly, carelessly, sleepwalking

But the seed pushed forward, upward...reached for the sun where he was

Prayed for rain and kindness and a little more room

Opened his little leaves, though tattered and torn, sucked in every drop that the city would give it

Sang joyously in the rain, just loud enough that in the mist, a woman overheard

Kneeled down and said hello
Heart stole one appreciating moment and image
Connected with the little plant's struggle and persistence and beauty

The onlookers saw the crazy woman...
laughed
looked away
called her an artist

But in reality
the little plant impressed her more
Woke her up
made her glow

Humming the tune all the way home

Subway Moments

Things happen on the subways of New York. Everytime I walk down the steps, the underground envelopes me...it is a place and a state of mind very different from the world above.

Often I am half awake, either going to or coming from work so exhausted I can barely keep my eyes open. The person next to me often has something to read. I like to look over their shoulders to check out the latest newspaper headlines, but not everyone is into sharing. Some shake the paper feverously when they see my eyes stealing a line, quickly turn the pages. Some leave the page where I am still reading, even after they are done, waiting generously for a que that it's okay to go on.

These things happen so covertly that neither of us could articulate when and how...it's just an underground phenonmenon like the squirrels collecting nuts or the sunflower facing the sun.

A homeless or crazy lady or man is always in the same car as me. Sometimes they send such a pungent smell of urine and grime through the car that like magic, people pull sprays and colognes from their bags and begin spritzing. A person unaware, maybe on an exhale, sits down next to them and immediately gets up. I want to sit closer, just becuase I feel so bad they have to be that stank. To watch everyone flee from your presence must be even more psycologically disturbing than being homeless and crazy itself.

Sometimes they smell good and ask for my money, and I think, nah, I bet you are taking a bath...you're livin' good. Sometimes they shout about Jesus. In Spanish, English, and even one time in Chinese. I think about their approach to saving the world. Isn't it strange that no one ever just sits next to you and tries to talk to you about Jesus? Now that would be crazy. I bet that's why they shout, better to be loud than for people to think your really crazy.

My favorite subway troop is this Mariachi band that consists of 3 Mexican men. Maybe it's because I'm a little homesick or maybe its just because they're really talented. The stand and play on a moving train, in old cowboy boots and with beat up instruments, smiling the whole time like they were on a stage. Like clockwork, during rush hour on the A train headed uptown they are there singing a song. It's always different, but upbeat and sends me to a celebratory space that I imagine I am in in those 3 minutes. I think about how poping they would make a drunken wedding go off. And when one of them comes around to collect donations with his hat, I never give them money, just a smile of gratitude in hopes it is enough.