two weeks
in and out
a perpetual
Go
Go
Go
from New York
to Maryland
(to Adelphi, to Baltimore, to Ocean City, to Frederick, to DC)
to New York
to Upstate
(to Batavia, to Byron, to Elba, to Waterport)
to New York
and now
are we still
Go…Go…?
from Brooklyn
to the Bronx
to Manhattan
and back
and back
and back?
or is there a moment
of rest
to recover
(or is the rest
also going to be
from bedroom
to Zoom
to Zoom
to Zoom
continually
ad infinitum
and on and on and on?)
those who
decide to
or decide not to
have actually made a decision
those of us who
stay in the middle
are doomed to
stay in the middle
~~~
it’s always interesting
to be clued into
another family’s drama.
i’ve only ever been privy
to a few sets of families
but whenever it happens
i feel like an uninvited audience member
to a preview
where the actors aren’t ready
and break character
more than they stay in
and no matter how much i try to tell myself
they’ve invited me here
i’m a part of the family now
i’ve married in
legally
i’m in
i still can’t help
but feel as though
i’m
intruding.
~~~
now i’m becoming worried
of writing too much
of being too real
too honest
for this little experimental experiment blog
when
when
when
did i switch from feeling too fake
and too impersonal
and wanting to be more honest?
[is it just the subject matter i’m worried about???]
figuring out our foundations;
both of us grew up
just outside of a suburban border
(not quite country)
and staying in green
with bugs
and wildlife
and stars and sky
feels so good
but also,
after a year and a half in The City
(The City that Never Sleeps, The Big Apple, The Greatest City in the World)
we can’t imagine living anywhere else.
we would miss the convenience of walking to get everywhere,
an actually useful public transportation system,
the resilience of all the people,
observing those completely unlike you
(and seeing dozens of people exactly like you,
no matter how unique you think you are)
(how quickly New York steals your heart)
i had a dream last night
that i was at a theme park
all roller coasters and arcade games
and fried food and good friends
and yet, in the air, there was the stench of stress
of disease
and i realized
that i shouldn’t be there.
i was there with a friend
i haven’t seen in ages
and we were enjoying our time
(it seemed the park had just opened up
and we were some of the first to ride its rides
again
after shut-down)
but the shut-down wasn’t done yet,
they just decided to open
they said they had precautions in place
but all i saw was slightly less people
and no way of stemming that flow
once the gates were truly open
(indeed, it wasn’t really much less than on a rainy summer day.)
and though my friend and i enjoyed our time
and i said hi to her family
and we replayed our crazy youth
(of rehearsals and post-show chi-chi’s gatherings
getting ‘drunk’ on sprite
and ‘high’ on pixy stix)
there was still a reminder
in the back of my head
“we are in a pandemic
we should still be in lock-down
what are you doing?
what are you doing?
what are you doing???”
but i couldn’t seem to leave.
maybe it was the social obligation;
i had arrived here with my friend
(i think we’d driven together)
i couldn’t just abandon her.
or maybe it was a selfish decision;
i hadn’t had this much fun
in over 8 months,
i hadn’t even been to a theme park
in years
i’d get cravings
(though i’ve never craved the crowds)
and there was still one more ride i wanted to ride
one more game i wanted to try
one more food i wanted to partake in
(plust the park wasn’t closing for hours and hours)
so my insides struggled
with the guilt of knowing i shouldn’t be there
and the knowledge that i could just leave
but the compulsivity to stay.
would i have not entered the park, had my dream started earlier?
given me an out of not feeling like i’d ‘already gotten this far’?
or would i have convinced myself there was some reason
saying ‘we’d already driven this far’
or ‘well they invited me’
or ‘i mean, the pandemic is lessening, right?’
but it’s not, it’s getting worse and worse, but half of the united states decided they were
‘bored of the pandemic’
‘bored of the lockdown’
‘bored of taking precautions for themselves and[especially] for others’
and i want to be bored of it all
but frankly, i enjoy the solitude
however
i miss my friends and my family
i miss having a place to go to every day
i miss exploring
i miss feeling like i could spend hours in one public place
i miss classes and hugs and working towards feeling strong
i miss feeling like i could one day make this city my own.
but mostly, i miss the souls i never met.
what if that first statistic was meant to be my new best friend
what if that person who had an ongoing condition
won’t be able to dance again
because their breath was taken away
by a disease traveling the globe
and they won’t go back to a class ever again
because they feel too embarrassed by their loss.
what if there was a chance encounter
a silly thing
mixed-up drinks at a coffee shop
or a jovial ‘yes and’ at a subway platform
just the little things that you hold in your heart
and maybe tell your spouse at the end of the day
that make the city feel like the most welcoming place
in the world
and now we can’t
because people think that roller coasters
and their own enjoyment
are more important
than other people’s
lives.
please stay inside.
7pm
every weekday
New Yorkers
cheer
through open windows
banging pots and pans
screaming our thanks
outwards
upwards
towards the front line workers
[trying to] control this pandemic
helping people
keeping folks
alive
[it felt like our only way to actively
give thanks
and feel relatively
in control]
November 7, 2020
11:27am
cheers echo in our neighborhood
as my spouse refreshes their page
“yep, the New York Times just called it”
and here we are again
regaining some control
screaming our relief
through open windows
outwards
upwards
towards whatever higher deities
[or Pennsylvanians]
we believe in
giving thanks for knowing
we should have a leader
who can be held accountable.
[now let’s hold him
accountable.]
as scary as this pandemic was
at the beginning
in this city of millions
i am far more scared
for my friends
in Wisconsin
than i ever was
for me
in NYC.
there is a silence
in the country
in the backwoods
that unnerves me
any creak of the house
or wind in the trees
sends my anxiety rising to levels
far above those rustling leaves
simply because it is outside the norm
in the city, there is a collage of noises every night
and you never know where anything is coming from
and you just learn that it is part of the auditory landscape
and it lulls you to sleep, like a very unique kind of white noise machine
the lullaby of the city
of sirens
harmonizing with three different genres of music
blasting out of un-mufflered cars
and the steady hum of the downstairs bathroom fan
somehow melding into the far away helicopter
distorted by distance
and they all cacophonize
into one quiet whisper
of ‘you’re safe
you’re safe
you’re safe
now go to sleep’
and you sleep better than
you have in weeks
(it feels so good to be home)
On my rooftop I see:
1. a green tree across the street
2. a match to the folding chair under me
3. a pigeon, hopping on the next roof, its eyes as red as the
4. red brick apartment across the road
5. a treeline, it might be the park?
6. a metal fence, so I don’t fall off
7. this private rooftop terrace, that my privilege helped get me
8. satellite dishes from DirectTV
9. a/c units sticking out of 6th floor windows
10. clouds and a flash of what may be a rainbow
11. my rainbow hair blowing in the polluted wind
12. no sign nor sight of a way to make this poem end
13. sounds of busses, bodega music, wings flapping, construction; scents of the laundromat around the corner,
and wind, so much wind, against my face, feeling a chill on this hot New York afternoon, perhaps//
a loud boom, a bang, was it from the west or the east?
i strain my neck over the gate, and the only answer i see
is the smell of the garbage truck, stopped on my street.
i have so many unfinished poems written
but not the stomach to stomach the rereading.
no wonder poets wonder about new york city
this place is confusing
and disgusting
and beauty
if you listen (not so) closely
the horns of the cars of a New York City street
almost sound like
the horns of the start of a New Orleans brass band
kipventures 