Hobo's Poems

Alone sound of the wind waves ambulance Brighton Beach secluded alone on the blanket alone in my bikini trying to be in my bareness Allness Today this is what my body looks like who says what is there are many ways to look It's harder to be around friends in bathing suits they don't see you in your underwear like your husband does they don't see beneath your clothes the freckles the scars the stretch marks bathing suits are really being naked The cool breeze hot sand beneath my belly pushing my toes down warm comfort and balance layers of me sandy sticky me suntanlotioned skin full blanket me I occupy this space among people in public yet i am secluded and serene

Strip away what no longer serves. Move daily to circle hips, celebrate. Bend, fold, fall. Take what is almost gone or cracked, dispose of it now. Use what is necessary. Carry the grief in the middle pocket of the Betsey Johnson purse with the yellow bow. Tie the polka dot scarf around neck. Dab assorted colors on lips, cheeks. Contribute to this house of you. Throw away old receipts. Remove makeup. Brush teeth, floss. Do laundry. Wash dishes. Make the bed. Grocery shopping. Cook when you can. Take out trash. Clean litter box. Water plants. Pause. Decorate the tops of different surfaces. Examine contents in wooden boxes. Behold sparkle earrings in hand. Let the fire burn. Honor past paper. Ignite new poems. It takes time to care, the act of kindness, folding yourself. Put a notebook and pen in tote bag next to the pain It's not too heavy. It never was.

Noticing lips pouts on the F train to Second Avenue The Blonde: a few freckles on her face, nude lips, hair upswept rhinestone earrings blossom Over there Bettie Page with fiery pucker bull nose piercing Another light pink, shiny-full complimentary to her camel coat with coral scarf We are all searching for something or someone We seek each other out our eyes connecting Wine soaked mouth berry and black checkered jacket mousy brown hair natural she moves closer to male lips with Container Store bag corduroy coat raven locks slicked back She is wondering, What would it be like to kiss him? My friend waits for our next stop messy ponytail fuschia glasses cherry lips a mix of cotton candy with glitter gloss on top I mentally zoom n on my own face/my own pout mine are dry with remaining red color from this afternoon Does anyone else notice? I whisper, "sssshhhhhh." to kiss myself and embrace my own voice, the feel of my own lips, top and bo...

I told my friend the grief is like a flame that is always lit within me. It burns every day inside Jennifer Dawn. It's intensity rises with the anniversary - one side of the flame, a personal pool of hot lava frustration drop in to revolt. Yet it burns peacefully most of all because within me is always the flame of love, an endless supply of listen, connect and receive. I swim in the bottomless pool of peaceful water. Is it two flames? One flame changes? Is it two rooms, two pools in my heart? I told my friend the grief is like the Olympic flame, and I discover there are two flames inside the torch. The yellow one burns cooler and is prone to extinguish in the wind and rain, but there is a smaller, hotter flame which is capable of relighting the other one. I cherish this flame(s) and all it is from when I climb out of bed in the morning to when I place my head on my pillow at night. I honor the pain. It is a symbol to me of celebrating life ...

to be inside the swirl of blue the ocean wave of us the tunnel of wish the spark of possibility the drive deep within please keep her here  nonononononononono this burn in my stomach moving up through my throat the pressure hands squeeze my neck no breathe and claim her change my life

My daily routine - I reach out to grab your hand the one I can't see in the crowd or on the train. I seize your elbow anywhere. I think about you and you arrive on the R at Lexington and 59th, climbing up the stairs with me to 95 degrees on W. 79th and Broadway. It can't be five years. Another day this month, no ventilation on the subway. Switch cars, wait to feel the cool air come on. The Spanish minister, the announcement about delays, sounds amplify disturb peace while I blare Le Tigre. It can't be five years.

Don't be sad for me for the body that is not here. I still have my mother. Okay, be sad for me for the gone away of her body. Thank you, my mother for teaching me love lives in missing senses there is nothing missing.