Monthly Archives: February 2020

Sitting in the beauty parlor In a complex fancy chair Amid a disparate clientele My hair wizard talks to me As she wields scissors. My little girl is two years old She says Working with a delicate touch. My son … Continue reading →

My mother was born on Leap Year Day In 1912 I miss her Not all the time, only once in a while Mostly I am glad she is dead Terrible of me to say, I know But she wasn’t very … Continue reading →

I was thinking about people I knew When I was young And how beautiful they were. Me too. I still see some of them Occasionally, like My first husband, once blond and wistful Poetically aristocratic Now stooped and sick With … Continue reading →

Peter and I ran away together Rented a bare room in Hell’s Kitchen Listened to bebop in doorways on 47th street. He wrote poetry about me I drew portraits of him. We had no money because our families were angry … Continue reading →

It is only February And I am sick of winter Everything is black and white And gray Maybe a little beige. I dimly remember color Green I think It was on a flower I saw once Or maybe just dreamed.

Today I am picking up my new car It is big and steel gray and shiny Quiet Powerful It only costs a million dollars Not really but it’s more expensive than my first house and Just a bit smaller. I … Continue reading →

I know old ladies with tattoos exist Because I see them in the locker room After old lady swimming class. you know they must have been hot stuff Back in the day Maybe hippies dancing stoned hair flying Or motorcycle … Continue reading →

When I start writing poems After 75 years I have lots of stories to tell Many of which show me in a less than ideal light I didn’t set out to be unpleasant It just happened that way. And now … Continue reading →

When I decided to become a lawyer After decades of scoffing At bourgeois stuffy boring men In suits with briefcases Like my father I enrolled in law school, conveniently just Down the road. My first class was Legal Writing because … Continue reading →

All widowers are permitted After a respectful period of mourning To fall in love again And be happy. Except for my husband When I die he can choose to Immolate himself in utter despair Or become a monk. It’s good … Continue reading →