Sloan Kettering

Standing bare foot on the hot charred boardwalk
the smell of baked wood and nails
staring to the side not at the ocean
I can't look at something beautiful right now

Mom is at the pay phone calling Mary
Her best friend,
the one who drove her to the hospital in her new convertible
so that I could be born

Mom had softly mentioned through out the vacation
Mrs. Mazon was to get her test results from the same hospital
You did not use phones in hotel rooms
she gathered many coins and asked for long distance

I knew the news before she hung up
cancer, a sentence for women in the 70's
we thought they were treating her
decades later I learned, there was no treatment, just pain meds

The truth struck me down
a rush of sadness, nausea and disbelief
I felt betrayed for me, for women, for their families
for the lies and losses, for Mary

sad, all over, for the lack of respect
For those that bring forth life,
No chances, no research for women
How could they ignore, did they not love their own mothers?

A hearse arrived at sunset as we played on my street
A friend said Mrs. Mazon died and I yelled at them "take it back"
I could not believe it was not an ambulance for one last chance
I refused to believe it until I saw men rolling something out, than I cried

30 some years later I stand at 66th & 2nd Ave
A glistening new cancer hospital is complete
I still feel the betrayal and am choking back
People of medicine let women die

A new cathedral to save the dying
What is the truth?
How can we save our sisters and daughters?
Will they tear this building down when they have found a cure?

I met a boy

I met a boy standing with his back against the counter, arms crossed, legs crossed.
He would remove a hand from his arm to gesture but it always found it's way back the the
fold of his other arm. I fell in love with this boy and watched him become a man.
I can remember times when he would say something walk away and we were so perfectly in tune he knew how long my mind would take to say Huh? than he would turn to catch me looking at him and we would both burst into laughter. He did that to me in December of 1988 than came into the kitchen and grabbed me jokingly and made me laugh even more and I was already in love. I didn't know it. I thought he was just the greatest friend a gal could ever ask for. He knew something about everything and we talked endlessly about our relationships and past and what we wanted in life. Told each other about people that we met sort of asking for advice on dating and getting it with straight answers and from someone who really cared about the out come. He was my every friend. Than we fell into each other and it was great and it was complicated but I never was attracted to anything easy in life. I still am taken with conversations with him. I love the way he thinks and speaks and his perspective and that he asks me for mine.
I love the way he folds those arms. He is a great dad and a great husband and lover, handsome, heartfelt and emotional, passionate, caring, vulnerable, funny, frighteningly intelligent, calm. I love him.

My Brain

My mind is blown out by the lunacy
I see it in chunks around me on the pavement
feeling that I have pulled parts out with my hands
just to relieve the pressure
Looking back I always knew it was there
I chose to ignore it and accept it
the pieces that came out in my hands
Poor cerebrum, hurt so much from the disregard
Some of it leaped out on it's own quest
It had to come out to stop the tears
I thought alleving the pressure would make the pain less
but the hurt has been there so long
I have ignored it's cry
now it is a collicky baby that constant holding
can not heal the bereavment for the loss of sanity

Hugs

Dropping my 2 kids in the school yard I realized how they were starting to find their independence and security within themselves. Their comfort
zone now started a block before the gate and I had less to worry about.
It was a good feeling as they need to grow and learn how to think on their own.
Not to be afraid of their ability to make choices without me.
After I hugged and kissed one than the other. I was well past the gate walking along the fence.
Saw my daughter standing by herself in the midst of a pile of bookbags watching me walk off. She ever so slightly lifted both hands signalling that she would like another hug. Startling from a 5th grader amidst the swirl of her classmates playing tag.
I went back in and hugged her and received a deep sweet hug that I could taste and smell
and as I released her I saw the blonde blur of my son heading towards me like a freight train with arms extended. He said I need a hug and kiss on the cheek. He jumped into my arms full force like a pole vaulter. Wrapped his legs around me like a tree climber and nuzzeled in for a good strong hug. Aware of the other boys I hugged him and
hesitated on the kiss. He whispered in my ear " I need a kiss on the cheek too". He hugged me for a good amount of time than both kids went back to their friends on the monkey bars better equipped to face a fall day.

If I could run and jump into my mothers arms and get the love and reassurance we all desire I would be in midflight flying into her arms.
Since I can't due to geography and the fact that it would put her in the hospital I will find my kids and husbands arms to hold me and tell me that I am loved. They always do and it always works. How does a simple hug, human touch give you the super power to fly? I'm pretty sure at this moment if I extended my arms I might just lift off the earth.

To Fly

I didn’t remember this until just now but once I was able to fly. In my dreams as a child flying came to me with the same ease as walking, swimming or breathing. I spent more time in the air than on the ground. Not that my time on ground was not as equally spectacular. I could see a friend 100 yards off and Stretch Armstrong like take one long step and be standing next to them. This was such the norm in my sleep life that for a while I believed it was true. I would talk to my mom about my last adventure while she was ironing in the dining room and she would somewhat politely agree or ask a question that was not too discouraging. Knowing her now it is so touching that she did not discount my belief.

This went on for a week or so. When I filled my sister Rita in on my unseen talent she matter of factly told me I was wrong. Her disbelief shocked me. So I took her up to my sister Judy’s bed, which in my mind what where one took off from. Crawled up on top after first taking my shoes off, of course, butt backed up against the headboard, charged across the bed and soared into the air. When gravity worked its wonders I was convinced that something had gone wrong. Maybe it was her doubt that was my anchor? I tried once more with her in the room. She did not mock me. I needed to practice so she left me to my attempts. I gave it a healthy try until my mom screamed up the steps to stop shaking the dining room chandelier. It was a long time before I took flight in my dreams again but in my waking life I was land locked from that point on. In retrospect I wonder if it was in that moment that I grew out of childish beliefs and moved away from those that included such things as Neverland?

M.S.

They can't say that I have M.S.

and I don't dare to say it either
don't want to say it

Dr's can't say for certain
though off the record they always say
"You will probably develop full M.S. in your lifetime"
Huh?!
but it is screaming out of the back of my throat

Something is wrong with my neural system

I know it everyday and plow on

It is so much more than motherly exaustion

I don't feel things the way I should

waist to toes I don't feel

shoulders to finger tips, dull
When something excites me in life

I feel an electrical pulse throughout my body

that is more like a short circuit

It is interesting and nice to feel something deeply for a change

as my skin is always a bit lacking

I am covered in wax and feel sensations through a thick coating
but I know it is not right

It's like flipping the hall light and the attic light goes on

Funny and different but not good

a photo of my self as a child on the beach with my sister

curled and cracking into hundreds of pieces

colored photo separating from the paper

Eventually the image will disintagrate

it will flutter free into the wind
I feel like it is my hour glass
when my childish image is gone
I will have disintegrated and separated from

my young healthy self

I can only watch

until there is nothing
lack of feeling runs deep

Tell Me Honestly

As I grapple with the moderate physical changes that have been coming my way I know the real struggle is that I am trying to emotionally prepare for the big things. So I've dealt with gray in unexpected places. Places that I never thought about turning gray. Or thickening in places that have never felt so squeezed into clothing on non dressy occasions . Love handles, foot problems, no, real foot problems! So I have dug an emotional little fox hole that I hide inside of privately for those "oh my god" moments as I prepare for the big things. Once digested I crawl out and face the world.

The latest thing to send my into my lil hole was after I ran into a former friend on the street. Former, for no other reason than time and proximity. As we spoke I noticed the sunshine put a glint on the little gray beard that was popping out of the very bottom of her chin. There was no question. There she blows, a beard, a gray beard. It was more than a few hairs of a pubescent fair haired boy. It was full thick growth needing an epilady or large sturdy tweezers or an old fashioned Gilette razor. I wonder if she doesn't see it or doesn't care. One would have to notice a texture change as you wash your face that there is a new wiry substance where there once was dewy soft skin. Do I tell her or do I send her an anonymous note? I personally would die and would expect a friend to embarrass me by pulling me aside out of ear range and let me down fast and hard. Tell me because they care about me and my dignity. Why do I care? Is not caring one of the other things coming my way down the pike?


Said friend has a few years on me. So in my hole I am wondering if there is a beard in my future? Do I need to dig my foxhole deeper. I certainly need to add this clause to my pact with my friends of things that we will tell each other when we don't know any better and someone should tell us. Previously discussed were big things like losing our minds, looking unkept and drool. But I think I need to expand the list. The Things friends and family should tell me about as I age that I would be embarrassed about if I had the sense and was unaware that they were happening to me. Can we make this deal? If you know me and my ass is hanging out of jeans that I should no longer be wearing pull me to the side and set me straight. When I cry from embarrassment and the depths of my dissolution hold me up and tell me something humiliating about yourself. We can have a good laugh and if I'm that far gone I probably won't remember your stained story so you don't need to worry about me spreading tales and I'll owe you one.

Invisible

At the age of four you know that if no one hears you enter a room, if you stay close to a wall and if at least your head is covered you are invisible. So waking up, for some reason, on an early winter Saturday morning with everyone sleeping, I felt more magically invisible than I had ever felt before. I smelt coffee and sensed silence and heavy sleep from my five brothers and sisters. Three of them were teen agers and had entered a new phase of heavy morning sleep. Not sure why I was awake and they were not I crept downstairs to try to round up a little attention. Snuk up to the kitchen doorway and put my love blanket over myself for a better effect. Slunk down close to the ground, popped into the kitchen and hollered surprise to my parents. My father turned and threw his coffee cup over my head to shatter on the wall behind me and splatter around me. Tiger fast I dove under the table that they were sitting at and pinned myself up against the wall. Searching for a different type of invisibility this time, non existance. My mother cleaned the mug and spill up before coming down to the floor to tell me it wasn't my fault and to persuade me to come out from hiding, it was safe. I did not find her argument convincing but was longing for comfort from my the tears. She hugged me a little and tried to tell me that I did not understand and that I did not do anything wrong. Even at four my inner rationale was asking me, "than why isn't he apologizing ?" " Why isn't he telling me that it is not my fault." "Why isn't he holding me and comforting me?" He was not holding me and telling me that he didn't mean to scare the jesus out of me. It was a big mistake. My father did not look at me or apologize.

But I still loved the smell of coffee. I used to come home to an empty house at lunch time. I used this lone opportunity to lift the lid of the Maxwell House container to get a full strong smell. Than I got my next door neighbor in on this lunchtime ritual. We would linger and sniff and talk about what it must be like to drink this stuff and that it was so weird the way you made it. Poured into an metal coffee maker over grounds with a filter made from toilet paper. It smelt so wonderful and foreign and adult to us. Than I accidentally spilt the entire container onto the heavily trafficked kitchen floor one noontime. Momentarily paniced than quickly swept it up and put it back in the can. Shook it a few times for some unknown reason and returned it to the shelf. I have always thought that this somehow evened the playing field in our kitchen. Again, no one had seen it, nothing had happened. Invisible. A day later I confessed to my sister who did not react but promptly told my parents when I was not home. That evening my dad sat me down and explained rather nicely and with understanding that it was it was unhealthy for my parents to be drinking something that had been scraped off of the floor. He was talking to me. Eye to eye and with regard for my fear of the circumstances. Somehow I was not invisible anymore.

Ode to my Foot

Ah to be into my 40's
to worry and complain
ponder the ailments that baffle us
to sleep with an orthotic boot at night
because my muscle can not remember how to work quite right in my foot
It seems to have forgotten
Did I let it down?
It needs to learn how to stretch out again
We wonder what we have done to our bodies as they fail us
but we have spent 20 years
hunched over
skipping breakfast
skipping lunch
dinner at 10:00 and bed after midnight
eating our 1st meal at 2:00pm
staying up late
going to work sick
not sleeping on weekends
drinking when we are sick
dringking rather than eating as we can only afford one
and we make the wrong choice for our poor body
poor lil foot
we are not uber bots
we are human
our bodies spoke to us
we did not listen
but now we have reasons
there are little bodies
they need our larger ones to care for them
feed them, love them
read to them
We make these decisions now
for the right and wrong reasons
For the love and hug and the feeling
The little hand on your arm when you are sitting near
just checking that you are there
that you love them most
Oh if I had only gone to bed at 10:00 in my 20's
so that I had more to give my 40 year old body and soul
and in return I would have more for my 6 year old
and for myself and my foot
asleep in the boot like a child in a cradle
knowing that I am there and that I will take care of it
This time I will

Ode to the Om

Ode to the Om

Yoga kicked my ass
and I'm feelin it in my bones
I haven't found my center
and I'm feelin no damn Om

God help my hamstrings
cause my Yogi can't
Tell me why did I pay
20 bucks to chant

I thought that screamin when I'm drivin
really got it off my chest
now I'm moaning from the twistin
and so sore I just can't rest

I wanna camel, cow and table
beat Madonna at her game
Cause I'll never let no girl in tights
make me feel ashamed

I will tree pose like a mighty oak
and cobra till you cower
just help me turn the water on
so I can take a shower

Yoga kicked me good
and I think that I'll go back
maybe this is S & M
and I'm a little whack
_____________________________________________

Life in songs

My life as a mom is compartmentalized so much so that it is close to comical. It would be great to film any day of any mom’s life and edit it down to a few minutes with no voices just play “The Barber of Seville” over it. You would bring a theatre full of parents to their feet with a roar and laughter as this would capture life between birth and 18 perfectly. No words just full steam ahead free flowing organized, mishaps, chaos with three meals a day.

I often play music on the radio or it streams in my mind over my daily life to make it more entertaining. Recently as I was completing my evening sojourn of the take 2 trains, get the car, get a snack, run to two different after school programs to pick up kids, give said snack, pick up a healthy dinner, make homework happen, check homework, heat food, serve food, try to eat food and spend quality time with kids, have a conversation, find out how their day was, make sure guitar is practiced, little bodies bathed, all are read to, loved and listened to, try not to fall asleep w/ child while reading.

Through all of this I have music playing over my life on either the radio, iPod or in my head. It dawned on my that I break my life into units measured by the number of songs it takes to complete any task. Driving to Emma’s afterschool is a two song commute. Dinner prep is ideally four songs, five if I have a glass of wine, six if I get a phone call while cooking. Bath’s take three songs unless both kids bath together than it’s a five song rubber ducky repertoire. If the radio in our car hits the 3rd song when I am charging from one after school pick up to another than you don’t want to be the car driving slowly in front of me. I have to get there before the after school person has their hand held out for that $10 late pick up fee. The fee that the 22 year old after school counselor tells you how sorry they are in words but their eyes are dancing as they have already spent the money. They are delighted because they think since you drive a car and own a house you are rich. Though in some crazy way you feel like you have less money in this stage of life than you ever have before. Just like the music in my mind every dollar is allotted before it is even earned.

Lullabys don't have a measure because no matter how tired I want those sleepy, nodding off kisses before dreams to last the length of an entire symphony. Just squeeze in one extra hug, because some day down the line those will be divied up too but not by me. The rules will change as my kids grow and they will not need that constant reassurance. So for now I get up from reading after I've told the monster in the closet of my sons room that he was not invited and that he needs to go home to his mommy. I hum a Hannah Montana song as I go through bags see what needs to be signed, returned, paid, Cloroxed and identified. Do laundry, greet husband, find medical forms, find summer camp, make Dr’s appt., think of present for various 5 year old birthday parties coming up, barter with husband to see who is responsible for finding chosen gift, have a life and possibly a career.

It all sounds packaged, planned and pigeonholed. It often feels that way as well. Sometimes when you lay your head on your pillow at night and the lights are off you can see the pages of your life lying open in front of you like a spreedsheet. You are the music broadcaster of your life forecasting drivetime, lunchtime, playtime and even private time. Dividing it all up into songs with their own slots. Life should not be so orchestrated but I've found that background music somehow works to spur me on in the daily duties of managing four people’s lives. One just has to remember to pull off at an unplanned roadside stop once and a while. Stop at that tacky wax museum you’ve driven by too many times next to your filling station. For once don’t just re-fuel and hit the highway. Visit the wax museum and the gift shop too, jump on the beds and have ice cream for dinner. Life is too short and sweet so listen to the music in your life. If there isn’t any playing allow your heart to feel it and your mind will soon catch up. When you hear it grab your children or your partner and dance. The dance and song are short but the memories linger for a lifetime. These tunes and moments will go fast and just like a popular song they will be replaced but others needs and life moments. But hopefully you will always feel the beat and your heart will skip and your toes will tape with the songs of your childs young life when you hear them in real time or in your head as you race down the roadways and hallways towards new vistas and checkpoints.

In your heart your child will always be little and just down the hall they will need one more snuggle and a dance before bedtime. They may be grown now and have children of their own.
Yet we are all children inside and our own children will always be 5 or 6 in some way. We all want mom to dance with us and tell us how much she loves us. To be whispered too that we are special and that everything will be alright as she kisses our cheek and lowers the light.

Hurting Hearts

I drive on through the neighborhood after dropping my two children off at school. After we have just had the 50 minute roller coaster ride of getting 1 adult and 2 kids up, fed, dressed, teeth brushed, book bags, lunch bags, coats, snacks, toys for afterschool out and into the car.

Nine years and running and I am still sad to leave my children at school every day. It is yet

another day that I don't get to spend enough time with them. Still they ask me, "mom can you

leave work early today and pick us up, take us to the park?" My heart hurts just as deeply

as the first time the question was asked.

Help me find the answer. I can't make my heart stop hurting as I know that theirs does too.

My Shelf

My Shelf

Moving quickly into my 40's more and more things are going the way that you have seen and heard them do in others yet somehow you think they won't hit you so quick and hard like a truck coming round a bend too quickly. There is nothing you can do to stop this train wreck. Well the truck hit me in the same way that you have seen it take down countless women before.


So you react by diligently beginning to eat right, try to exercise, try to sleep, moisturize. You have to use eyebrow pencil even when just running out for milk. You are starting to feel a little desperate and pathetic. No not age! Not lines! These were supposed to happen after I am done raising my kids so I can have a life again for a short while. Than I will give in. I solemnly promise to go south hard and fast one year after my youngest turns 18. But life laughs at you and hands you back a note stating, no deal.

So you ache and feel fatigued have new descriptions of exaustion that in reality you just can't describe. Of course these lapses in vocabulary are also new to you and are yet a new concern of your slipping down that aged path. You realize more and more that no man is enjoy the view when you bend over to fill the paper tray in the copier. He is wishing you would move as he needs to get by.

With all of these let downs I should have been better prepared for my visit to the accupuncture office. It's my first visit and I'm nervous and desperate for relief from various ailments. I am laying on a massage table in a questionably heated chinatown accupuncture office recommended by a friend.. A kind and mild mannered asian man has finished asking me questions about my migraines and fatigue. I'm now waiting for my treatment, front side face down, back side face up All that is between me and him is an examination gown. I feel him place all of the sealed needles and some type of adhesives for my feet on my butt. His hands move so softly I can not even feel the needles. I begin to smell menthol and I'm sleepy. But all that I can think is, he is using my behind as a staging ground for his work. I should be nervous about these needles as I've never been a fan. I should nervously be fearful of that prick but there is a ticker tape running across the inside of my eyelids repeating the same public service annoucement over and over... "My ass is a shelf" "My Ass is a Shelf?" My Ass is a Shelf!" It's not being appreciated as a shelf in a J.Lo or Beyonce kind of way. It is a utility shelf. Something you buy at Ikea with a odd name that you will never put up. Not my butt? Oh My God! My Butt. My ass is a piece of furniture.

I came out of my first accupuncture feeling tingly with treatment and relieved as my fatigue retreated. The that had been held prisoner in my body for so long was fleeing by body like it was a ship set on fire rudderless set to drift. I should be dancing and singing my way back to Brooklyn but something about my female appeal is in question. What the hey? Yeah I've had two kids and I've spread a bit. I can still squeeeeeeze into a size 6, sort of. I am not in model shape but I'm not wearing a wide load sign either. Mind you don't confuse my message. I'm not saying the accupuncturist should find me attractive but my ass is a designated on deck area.

After my treatment my skin was fine and my being was great but my ego could not recover. Oh my god I'm a middle aged Mom never have been stacked on top but have always been able to counter balance with a little junk in the trunk. So I"m feeling like every doll in the stores in 1959 after Barbie was introduced. Did I mention my ass is a shelf?

Blank Ship

Blank Ship

Old Friend
Girl Friend
Best Friend
New Friend
Fair weather Friend
Bad Friend
Unreliable Friend
Work Friend
Boy Friend
Best Friend Forever (BFF)
wife's friend
your friend
my friend
friend of a friend
Book Club Friend
Parent of your child's friend
Long Lost Friend
Re-kindled Friend
Phone Friend
Animal Friend
Childhood Friend
Army Friend
Political Friend
Long Distance Friend
Trustworthy Friend
Male Friend
Gay Friend
High School Friend
Reliable Friend
Worthless Friend
Inappropriate Friend
Nobodies Friend
Soulful Friend
Blind Friend
Sisterly Friend
Becky be my Friend
Church going friend
Barfly Friend
Wanting Friend
Lacking Friend
Too much of a Friend
Over the fence Friend
Facebook Friend
My Space Friend
Friendster
Not such a good Friend
former Friend
friend with benefits
Ex Boyfriend
I need a friend
friend to the end
We are all friends by choice, until one chooses not to be.

Macbeth in Macbrooklyn

a parody on the quote from Macbeth with a commentary on our society today

Setting is a nail salon in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn

Dominique you di-int call me like yuh said you would, remember...

To-morra n to-morra n to-morra
and don't get in my face, today like yiz did yestaday
Fuh the last time and fuh the record
I did not try to take your place at the club yestaday, yuh fool
that was Angelique, to the death, I sweah. burn a candle in my hand
Jist yestaday I says, “Life is too friggn short to get so worked up over this here fool action”
Don't get your panties and feathers so twisted here n during our girls hour
I don't want to hear this no more, It's a friggin tall tale
By some nimrod, full of piss n fury
Meaning, n I'm sayin this hear for real, Life's too short sis this means nothin.

The Original...

To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death.
Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,And then is heard no more.
It is a taleTold by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.