NY, NY

Can your passion be a place?

Because for me, it’s Manhattan.

Some people skate or photograph.  

It’s Central Park that makes me laugh.

Restless streets and hungry lovers,

Grand Central Station, high-powered mothers,

The Upper East Side, full of glamour,

Horns and sirens, constant clamor, 

Penthouses with views and vintage to sip,

Actor-waiters auditioning for a tip,

The N.Y. Times, the N.Y. Post,

Diners that charge $10 for toast,

Bagels, Cheesecake, Pastrami on Rye

With a crisp sour pickle and the bread piled high,

Union square and Bryant Park,

Clubs that come awake after dark,   

Each city street that never sleeps, 

 You've won my heart forever, for keeps.

Don't let me forget

Don't let me forget
The sounds of your voice
I worry sometimes
That I will.

Please let me hear it again
And store it away
To keep my memory
Strong and still.

Don't let me forgot
Our last embace
I hope that I
Held you tight

But I worry
It wasn't much of a hug
But rather just a
Standard "goodnight"

Help me to remember
the smell of your skin
Fresh from a
Morning shower

Once more, let me
Capture a breath of
Warm air and
Scent of fresh powder

When you come sometimes
As I sleep
And sometimes
As I stroll

Come long enough
For me to see
The details that
Time stole

Come walk with me
Come talk with me
Come be with me
Come let me see

And feel and smell
Again and forever
All that I now have
As only memory.

Grief: Take 3

Grief




When you love someone, you should set them free

But when that someone dies, I disagree

More important to hold on tight

To the faintest sound, smell or sight



Through those memories

Joy can grow

As the strength of love

Dams pain's flow



So hold the memories fast

Keep a photo in your heart

Share the story of your last laugh

Feel how close you are apart.

Grief - Take 2

When you love someone, you should set them free


But when that someone dies, I disagree

More important to hold on tight

To the faintest sound, smell or sight



Through those memories

Joy can grow

As the strength of love

Dams pain's flow



The Loss remains

But loosens its chains

If you focus anew

On the love within you



So hold the memories fast

Keep a photo in your heart

Share the story of your last laugh

Feel how close you are apart.

Big Hair in the Big Apple

I love New York - unapologeticly.  I have tried Boston and D.C. to no avail.  A recent brief visit to L.A. tried hard to seduce me  - the weather! the mountains! the ocean! But the people there all seemed either unnaturally chill or chipper - stress a little please, complain already...). 

No, New York has my heart.  This week I was reminded why. 

Here we are: Out to dinner on a Thurday night to celebrate a friend's new job (new job in this economy - yes - I have impressive friends ).  In the West Village - the epitomy of subtle swank.  Leaving restaurant - we head for more wine.  Bottles later, we are leaving for the evening.  On the sidewalk, the group is splitting up.  Uptown, east side, west side, other boroughs...looking for cabs, saying goodbye. So good to see you.  Let's do it again soon.  Yes, yes, absolutely.  Call me. Text me.  Email an Outlook invite.  If it is not on my calendar, it won't happen. 

WAIT, someone says. Loudly.  OMG.  What?  What is it?   Like dominos, the concern spills throughout out.  You OK? What happened??? 

Yes, yes, fine, fine.  But do you see that?

And suddenly, we pause.  Cabs are waived away.  Blackberries and iPhones still.  We follow the commenter's gaze, unsure where to focus.  What - those guys on the street?  What?  Am I drunk?  Or not drunk enough?  I see nothing.  What is it???

No, no - LOOK - through the window.  Across the street.

The pizza place?  What?  Who cares?   Is there pizza good?  Are they on a TV show?

And then, there she is.  A white woman..  40s?  Biceps the size of logs.  Eating a slice.  Innocuous enough.  But. Oh. WOW. Yes, now I see.

The HAIR. 

It hangs below her shoulders in length - and extends four times her shoulder width.  Big  Big. Big.  Frizzy big.   Blond and black - is that ombre?  Definitely achievable only by frying.  She's sitting across from a guy about a quarter of her size.  It is 11 pm on a Thursday night.  They are engrossed in conversation.  My one unfulfilled wish is to be able to hear what they are talking about.

Smile. Pause. Deep breathe. Another look. 

Phone, street - Cabbie!

Ahh, New York. How I love you.

Home

When everything hurts I see you
And smile
In you
A warmth, comfort
That I wish
I could file
Away
For those
Very bad days
When the world
Bears down
When each sound is
Too loud
When each bump makes
A bruise
When all there is
Is to lose
Seeing you
I remember that
We get to choose
Submit to our pain
Or break free of
The chain
Let the weight
Bear down
Or toss it off
Like a gown
I cansee
Through the clouds
To the sun above
The shrouds
Past the pain
And deep sorrow
To a happier
Tomorrow
Where memories
Are treasures
That makes us smile
Where sadness
Goes away
For a little while
Where together
At heart
We are never alone
Where together
At heart
We are all home.

Easter

The basket hangs on a coat hanger in the hall closet. There is no room for it.  Why I kept it, I am not sure.  I did not want to be wasteful and must have thought I would resuse it.  I haven't.  It is a nice basket.  Not fancy, but certainly reusable. 

Once full of jelly beans, peeps, chocolate eggs.   I don't really remember, but I am pretty sure.  Some things never change. Maybe if I looked through old emails I would remember how we spent the day. I don't want to have to piece it together via email. I shouldn't have to. I should remember.  It hurts to not remember.  But I guess that is what I deserve - for not remembering.

I think I received it last year.  But it might have been from the year before.  I am not sure.  Why don't I remember?  I should remember.  If I had planned, I could have filled it and given it to Dad this year - or at least put it out as decoration.  But I didn't.  So now the empty basket hangs in the closet, for me to see every time I reach for and hang up a coat.

It's the last basket.  And while I may never reuse it.  I will never let it go.