happiness is when
i wake up with music in my head
it could be a sanskrit chant
or maybe aretha or martha and the vandellas
and it stays with me all day
happiness is when
my mother sends me an email
that contains only symbols
hearts, stars, fruit, silly animals, red exclamation marks
and i know she's been having fun with her smartie phone
happiness is when
i ride in the car with the love of my life
and we come to an open stretch of road
just as thousands of leaves
come dancing by — right to left and back again
happiness is when
i feel a bit drab
and then remind myself that
i can put on mis-matched socks
and i do
happiness is when
i decide i just don't care
and i let the leaves blow in
and i don't
vacuum them up
happiness is when
a friend sends an email
that says TY TY TY
and i don't know what it means
but then i figure it out: Thank You Thank You Thank You
happiness is when
i buy a new box of 10 pens
all different colored inks
and feel secure
for at least one month
happiness is when
everyone who is expected arrives
the circle is complete
a grey wet morning
brightens
Saturday, November 26, 2016
Tuesday, November 22, 2016
A Thanksgiving Letter (originally published here on November 20, 2011)
Thanksgiving Day, 9 a.m.
Dear Ava,
I’ve been up since six, bet you were too, and I wish I could have come over but Daddy says it’s slutty the way I run over to your house all the time and I told him it’s not slutty when it’s two girls but he said he’s speaking metaphorically and anyway this is Thanksgiving (like I didn’t know that) and it’s meant for families to be with families, which is just plain stupid, but anyway that’s why I’m writing to you and not talking to you in person and as soon as I can get out the front door without being caught I’ll run this over and put it in your mailbox. I hope you look there. Try to read my mind this second: M-A-I-L B-O-X.
Do you like this paper? It’s not really purple. I know it looks purple but it’s called mauve and no I didn’t spell it wrong, my grandma sent it with a note telling me the color because she’s always trying to improve my mind, so get used to this mauve, you’ll be seeing a lot of it, who else would I write to?
She also sent me a book, "A Child’s Garden of Verses," she is so two centuries ago, but I don’t want to be mad at her because the reason she’s sending me this stuff instead of waiting until Hanukkah is she thinks she might be dead by then which is really sad. But on the other hand it’s not sad because there’s nothing wrong with her, she just gets seasonal dread she calls it, but if she’s still alive on New Year’s Day then I’m really going to be mad at her for being so negative about life.
There was a lot of activity in the kitchen this morning, Dad and his new live-in girlfriend playing around with the turkey, giggle, giggle, giggle. I stayed up in my room because watching them make out over a naked animal would turn my stomach, but now they’ve gone back to bed and it’s quiet as the grave though any second I expect to hear her panting and oh-my-god-ing and I'm sure this is not good for me, mental health-wise, but Dad, being a psychologist, would probably say “Facts of life, Dorrie, get used to it.”
So I'm just wondering about something: “quiet as the grave,” what do you think? Is it quiet in the grave? I doubt it. Gross. Hold on a sec, I’m going to change the channel in my mind. Okay, I’m back.
My ex-step-mother and her two gnomes will be here at one. Is this the weirdest thing you’ve ever heard of? My father is like one of those men with a harem, he gets his ex and his current to come and fuss over him with their cranberry sauces and we’re all supposed to act like it’s normal. He says “We make the rules, not society” but by "we" he means "he" because if I made the rules I’d be at your house right now and we’d have mac-and-cheese from the microwave and we'd play with the Ouija board until our finger tips fell off.
One of the things I’d really like to know is how a woman who is old enough to drive still can’t figure out the meaning of the word vegetarian. When Dad’s live-in realizes I’m not going to eat a single ounce of that 300 pound turkey there’s going to be World War 4 in the dining room. My ex-step-mother might even start crying. She’ll be sad because now that she’s a guest in the house she won’t get to call me names and throw fits. But you never know, anything can happen, I’m sort of hoping for a food fight with the two gnomes, for old time’s sake.
So now it is so much later, how did this happen?
You might have noticed I still haven’t managed to get this letter into your mailbox, hope you haven’t been waiting there, that is if you read my mind in the first place. Did you?
There’s something of a scene going on downstairs, I’ll tell you every single detail when I see you tomorrow, but for now just try to picture this: After the so-called feast my ex-step-mother stood up and recited a poem she wrote especially for the occasion. I thought she would have outgrown that sensitive phase of hers, but apparently not. It was a very long poem, seemed like 3 hours, and I didn’t understand all of it, but I think it was supposed to be erotic, and it kind of upset the live-in who might be living out soon. Hallelujah.
This is the last letter you’ll get from me on this mauve paper. You remember Jeffrey, one of my former step-gnomes, well he was hanging out in my room — don’t ask me how he got through the barricade — and it turns out mauve is his favorite color, which was something of a shocker but not in a totally bad way, so he’s taking the whole box of stationery off my hands except for one sheet which I’ll use to write a thank you note to my grandmother. I couldn’t get him to take "A Child’s Garden of Verses," though. What did I expect? It’s only Thanksgiving. They don’t promise you miracles on Thanksgiving.
Look for me early in the morning, I’ll be right there on your doorstep. You'll know it's me because in spite of everything that happened today I still look the same. On the outside.
Love, Dorrie
Dear Ava,
I’ve been up since six, bet you were too, and I wish I could have come over but Daddy says it’s slutty the way I run over to your house all the time and I told him it’s not slutty when it’s two girls but he said he’s speaking metaphorically and anyway this is Thanksgiving (like I didn’t know that) and it’s meant for families to be with families, which is just plain stupid, but anyway that’s why I’m writing to you and not talking to you in person and as soon as I can get out the front door without being caught I’ll run this over and put it in your mailbox. I hope you look there. Try to read my mind this second: M-A-I-L B-O-X.
Do you like this paper? It’s not really purple. I know it looks purple but it’s called mauve and no I didn’t spell it wrong, my grandma sent it with a note telling me the color because she’s always trying to improve my mind, so get used to this mauve, you’ll be seeing a lot of it, who else would I write to?
She also sent me a book, "A Child’s Garden of Verses," she is so two centuries ago, but I don’t want to be mad at her because the reason she’s sending me this stuff instead of waiting until Hanukkah is she thinks she might be dead by then which is really sad. But on the other hand it’s not sad because there’s nothing wrong with her, she just gets seasonal dread she calls it, but if she’s still alive on New Year’s Day then I’m really going to be mad at her for being so negative about life.
There was a lot of activity in the kitchen this morning, Dad and his new live-in girlfriend playing around with the turkey, giggle, giggle, giggle. I stayed up in my room because watching them make out over a naked animal would turn my stomach, but now they’ve gone back to bed and it’s quiet as the grave though any second I expect to hear her panting and oh-my-god-ing and I'm sure this is not good for me, mental health-wise, but Dad, being a psychologist, would probably say “Facts of life, Dorrie, get used to it.”
So I'm just wondering about something: “quiet as the grave,” what do you think? Is it quiet in the grave? I doubt it. Gross. Hold on a sec, I’m going to change the channel in my mind. Okay, I’m back.
My ex-step-mother and her two gnomes will be here at one. Is this the weirdest thing you’ve ever heard of? My father is like one of those men with a harem, he gets his ex and his current to come and fuss over him with their cranberry sauces and we’re all supposed to act like it’s normal. He says “We make the rules, not society” but by "we" he means "he" because if I made the rules I’d be at your house right now and we’d have mac-and-cheese from the microwave and we'd play with the Ouija board until our finger tips fell off.
One of the things I’d really like to know is how a woman who is old enough to drive still can’t figure out the meaning of the word vegetarian. When Dad’s live-in realizes I’m not going to eat a single ounce of that 300 pound turkey there’s going to be World War 4 in the dining room. My ex-step-mother might even start crying. She’ll be sad because now that she’s a guest in the house she won’t get to call me names and throw fits. But you never know, anything can happen, I’m sort of hoping for a food fight with the two gnomes, for old time’s sake.
So now it is so much later, how did this happen?
You might have noticed I still haven’t managed to get this letter into your mailbox, hope you haven’t been waiting there, that is if you read my mind in the first place. Did you?
There’s something of a scene going on downstairs, I’ll tell you every single detail when I see you tomorrow, but for now just try to picture this: After the so-called feast my ex-step-mother stood up and recited a poem she wrote especially for the occasion. I thought she would have outgrown that sensitive phase of hers, but apparently not. It was a very long poem, seemed like 3 hours, and I didn’t understand all of it, but I think it was supposed to be erotic, and it kind of upset the live-in who might be living out soon. Hallelujah.
This is the last letter you’ll get from me on this mauve paper. You remember Jeffrey, one of my former step-gnomes, well he was hanging out in my room — don’t ask me how he got through the barricade — and it turns out mauve is his favorite color, which was something of a shocker but not in a totally bad way, so he’s taking the whole box of stationery off my hands except for one sheet which I’ll use to write a thank you note to my grandmother. I couldn’t get him to take "A Child’s Garden of Verses," though. What did I expect? It’s only Thanksgiving. They don’t promise you miracles on Thanksgiving.
Look for me early in the morning, I’ll be right there on your doorstep. You'll know it's me because in spite of everything that happened today I still look the same. On the outside.
Love, Dorrie
Thursday, November 17, 2016
the bronx: small poems (revised edition)
the bronx
dad fears the monkey house
refuses to take us to the zoo
the bronx
sweet smells from down the hill
stella d'oro cookie factory
the bronx
my father is well-known
in every chinese restaurant
the bronx
1965 — blackout —
we don't own a single flashlight
the bronx
singing leonard cohen
all the way to school
the bronx
friday night dinners at grandma's
we never say the blessing
the bronx
every time i leave the apartment
mom asks are you prepared?
the bronx
roller skating in the building's hallway
the old people hate us
the bronx
dad says
stop talking about vietnam already
the bronx
a short subway ride from yankee stadium
but we are not a baseball family
the bronx
my sister smears her mouth
with candy lipstick
the bronx
dad takes me to my first movie
davy crockett: king of the wild frontier
the bronx
all i want to be when i grow up
joan baez
the bronx
mother says
stay away from apartment 6E — (trick or treat)
the bronx
my sister and i want a pet
dad buys us a goldfish
the bronx
everyone in the building knows this:
never go down to the basement
the bronx
happy birthday to me
a box of 64 crayola crayons
the bronx
someone gives me a kazoo
bzzzzzzz bzzzzzzzzzz bzzzzzzzzzzzz
the bronx
mom says something shocking:
the hell with shari lewis
the bronx
mom teaches me to crochet
one granny square makes a dress for barbie
the bronx
the first family death
i don't know what to feel
the bronx
run over by a bicycle
tire marks on my body
the bronx
skating around the corner
it's like a different country
the bronx
oh happy day
i pass my junior high typing test
the bronx
every morning
talk talk talk talk radio
the bronx
strange men on the street ask
why so serious?
the bronx
dancing with an older girl
we win the lindy hop contest
the bronx
i buy an ankh pendant
my family is confused
the bronx
my first guitar lesson
go tell aunt rhody
the bronx
odetta in concert
grandma likes her deep voice
the bronx
a patch of blue
we declare it a five-tissue movie
the bronx
dad gets his first car
i'm afraid to ride with him
the bronx
i'm warned
don't even look at the hare krishnas
the bronx
the elevator is always broken
i take the stairs two at a time
the bronx
so many pot parties
i never manage to inhale
the bronx
two spices in the cupboard
but mom doesn't use them
the bronx
a neighbor calls me
rebel without a cause
the bronx
my grandma invents
vegetarian chopped liver
the bronx
my father has many rules
for slicing bagels
the bronx
the dirtiest word i know
fart
the bronx
nobody else likes
pistachio ice cream
the bronx
decide: who is better
helen keller or clara barton
the bronx
my first major crush
hayley mills
the bronx
every girl in my third grade class
gets a toni home perm
the bronx
i feel so grown up
my first bottle of jean nate bath splash
the bronx
one day dad announces he is
anti-quiche
the bronx
a sneeze from next door
i call out gezundheit
the bronx
we play knock hockey
until it's time to watch bonanza
the bronx
crime and punishment
i carry it with me everywhere
the bronx
i go to the wrong apartment by mistake
how did everything change while i was out playing
the bronx
dad says if we owned a house
we could have a junk room, not just a junk drawer
the bronx
some girls get princess phones
i do not
the bronx
the answer is always no
i'll never get to wear nylon stockings
the bronx
i discover that olives
make excellent finger puppets
the bronx
men place bets in the candy store
off limits to children
the bronx
my younger sister, my mother, and i
identical dresses
the bronx
my own library card
little house on the prairie
the bronx
that bad man in the button store
flirts with my mother
the bronx
after the blizzard
men on our block take turns with the shovel
the bronx
dad grows a beard
i stop kissing him
dad fears the monkey house
refuses to take us to the zoo
the bronx
sweet smells from down the hill
stella d'oro cookie factory
the bronx
my father is well-known
in every chinese restaurant
the bronx
1965 — blackout —
we don't own a single flashlight
the bronx
singing leonard cohen
all the way to school
the bronx
friday night dinners at grandma's
we never say the blessing
the bronx
every time i leave the apartment
mom asks are you prepared?
the bronx
roller skating in the building's hallway
the old people hate us
the bronx
dad says
stop talking about vietnam already
the bronx
a short subway ride from yankee stadium
but we are not a baseball family
the bronx
my sister smears her mouth
with candy lipstick
the bronx
dad takes me to my first movie
davy crockett: king of the wild frontier
the bronx
all i want to be when i grow up
joan baez
the bronx
mother says
stay away from apartment 6E — (trick or treat)
the bronx
my sister and i want a pet
dad buys us a goldfish
the bronx
everyone in the building knows this:
never go down to the basement
the bronx
happy birthday to me
a box of 64 crayola crayons
the bronx
someone gives me a kazoo
bzzzzzzz bzzzzzzzzzz bzzzzzzzzzzzz
the bronx
mom says something shocking:
the hell with shari lewis
the bronx
mom teaches me to crochet
one granny square makes a dress for barbie
the bronx
the first family death
i don't know what to feel
the bronx
run over by a bicycle
tire marks on my body
the bronx
skating around the corner
it's like a different country
the bronx
oh happy day
i pass my junior high typing test
the bronx
every morning
talk talk talk talk radio
the bronx
strange men on the street ask
why so serious?
the bronx
dancing with an older girl
we win the lindy hop contest
the bronx
i buy an ankh pendant
my family is confused
the bronx
my first guitar lesson
go tell aunt rhody
the bronx
odetta in concert
grandma likes her deep voice
the bronx
a patch of blue
we declare it a five-tissue movie
the bronx
dad gets his first car
i'm afraid to ride with him
the bronx
i'm warned
don't even look at the hare krishnas
the bronx
the elevator is always broken
i take the stairs two at a time
the bronx
so many pot parties
i never manage to inhale
the bronx
two spices in the cupboard
but mom doesn't use them
the bronx
a neighbor calls me
rebel without a cause
the bronx
my grandma invents
vegetarian chopped liver
the bronx
my father has many rules
for slicing bagels
the bronx
the dirtiest word i know
fart
the bronx
nobody else likes
pistachio ice cream
the bronx
decide: who is better
helen keller or clara barton
the bronx
my first major crush
hayley mills
the bronx
every girl in my third grade class
gets a toni home perm
the bronx
i feel so grown up
my first bottle of jean nate bath splash
the bronx
one day dad announces he is
anti-quiche
the bronx
a sneeze from next door
i call out gezundheit
the bronx
we play knock hockey
until it's time to watch bonanza
the bronx
crime and punishment
i carry it with me everywhere
the bronx
i go to the wrong apartment by mistake
how did everything change while i was out playing
the bronx
dad says if we owned a house
we could have a junk room, not just a junk drawer
the bronx
some girls get princess phones
i do not
the bronx
the answer is always no
i'll never get to wear nylon stockings
the bronx
i discover that olives
make excellent finger puppets
the bronx
men place bets in the candy store
off limits to children
the bronx
my younger sister, my mother, and i
identical dresses
the bronx
my own library card
little house on the prairie
the bronx
that bad man in the button store
flirts with my mother
the bronx
after the blizzard
men on our block take turns with the shovel
the bronx
dad grows a beard
i stop kissing him
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