the year in poetry 2010


our breath hangs in the air
in the morning sun
steam rises from the river
as we cross over the bridge
you are barely visible under scarves

riding my bike
flurries, red cheeks, nose bleeds
my eyes tearing in the cold
gray morning
the streets bleached white

sunday afternoon
january sun
ducks in the river in force
bloodied pigeon wings
open for flight on the sidewalk
clouds of breath
trees white under snow

frozen fog
a fine powder on the ground
trees all white
sun shining in the air
enchanted morning
illuminated air

snowing today
riding my bike through large flakes
the sound of my tires over fresh snow
wind in my ears
fog and slush on my glasses
I can barely see, but it’s warm
and I hear birds

purple gray sky half lit
with the glow of oncoming headlights
underneath it

silhouettes of buildings
three men speak Arabic
holding tiny Turkish coffee cups
on saucers outside ofthe restaurant

snow this morning
phantoms in the distance
the tree with all of its leaves
dried brown and shrunken
rasp like seed pod rattles
in the wind and snow

my feet plod heavy
disappearing under light powder

tracks from tires and other feet

whirl of stars in daylight
as I wait for the bus

seagulls over the abandoned warehouse
two workers in flannel shirts
holding a piece of wood over their shoulders
my heart beating fast

laying in bed last night
thinking about raising our child
while you slept at my side

this morning thunderstorms
my hands cold in the damp air
birds sing, my mind skips around

clock ticking
kids playing in the parking lot
breathe in, breathe out

cold again
mist this morning
damp and cold, gray sky
a morning bird sings
a three note minor melody

yesterday –

smell of pine outside the school
on my long walk home
in the shade – birds, song
waiting to meet my son

the heat thick with humidity
the apartment building just south of the park
surrounded by trees
like a palace
french doors look out onto sidewalks stained with mulberries

this morning –

rain in trees, leaves heavy
the long walk to the train
cool rain drops on my body
the park is empty
my heart is light

rain this morning
this summer is either hot as hell
or rainy and cool

haze of sun through trees
and after morning rain
flowers float in summer heat

in the cool morning
dry leaves blow across the grass
a man runs circles around the compass
in front of the pumping station

insect drone
walking to work
breeze through humid air
robins in the grass
searching for food

last night I dreamt we had our son
I held him and tickled his feet
making him laugh

This morning
gray light
clouds and a steady rain
small white moth flying
between leaves of grass

rain on my umbrella and my shins
pants rolled up
the quiet roar of raindrops on the leaves of the trees
in the park

last night
yoga, then felt our baby kick
while we held each other on the couch

clouds over the skyscrapers
lights glow along the river
umbrellas out
soft morning
cool air on skin

feet in the grass
cool breeze on skin
what will you look like?

fall approaching
the axis has tilted
and the sun is in my eyes
in the morning
while the old woman
waters her flowers with a hose

yoga last night
a surge of emotions
excitement and fear
happiness and the world heaved
as I lay on the floor on my back
in the dark
outside the moon obscured by clouds

sun this morning
clouds high and in straight lines
cool air, clean
and the smell of garlic

the old man sitting in the doorway
hunched over
hand on his knees
a ragged baseball cap
and a flock of magazines
blow through the street
under the train tracks

two geese honk in chorus
on a concrete pylon
they glide over the river
the homeless man wrapped in a blanket
along the river walk

yellow moon hangs low in the sky
the young couple kisses in polish
riding home on the train

what did you say
that night on the train
when you leaned in close
whispering French
in my ear
when I was sick
with love and fear

folding myself up into a lotus
cold morning
bruised light
a small centipede on the wall
breathing and counting

all the leaves on the ground
and the gang of geese
in the schoolyard
my hands are numb
in the November air
breathing and counting
alternates with our son
floating closer in my mind

the morning wrapped in
close grayness
crows caw caw in the bare trees
you are home
wrapped in bed
and our son sleeps with his mouth
quietly open

walking home carrying groceries
my feet crunch and squeak
on frozen snow
early evening black as night
I have to pee

and I think of that
childhood night at the house
of a friend in the country

the toilets broke
and we peed freely
off of the deck
into the black
summer night

he cries and cries
walking back and forth
through the living room
carrying him in my arms
my eyes shut
each step is a chore
falling asleep while standing up

night is interrupted
broken into three hour chunks
one hour of feeding and soothing
two hours of sleep

the sound of bison
heavy feet in the stairwell
otherwise silence
this early in the morning

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