Friday September 20 Still Beautiful

We will leave on Sunday

return to another life

orange room not yellow and

people will make sounds not frogs

or birds  sounds of stories if we’re lucky

sounds of what it’s like to live

in a place so big you never run out of streets

you haven’t been you can take the subway

all your life get off on a different stop

I still love it there but I will miss

this quiet this porch this September Friday

right here.


Restaurant Review (Great Barrington)


Dear Friends:  Here’s a poem.  AND I need your help with FINDING MORE READERS for

these poems.  Tell your friends.  Tell your enemies.  Tell anyone to SIGN UP. xxxxx



On our way to the pot store in Great Barrington

second visit order online if you go otherwise

two hour wait on our way to the pot store we

stopped   a very good Goodwill been there before

stylish French woman manager wearing yellow looks like

the girlfriend in BASKETS (have you watched that show?

Zack Galifinakas and Louie Anderson. Peter’s favorite)

we asked  where to eat lunch because she is French

because she was wearing yellow because she approved

of our numerous purchases Go To Marketplace Next Door

she said and though that seemed Too Easy we did and ordered

sandwich of the day Chicken Avocado on Homemade Bread

recommended by Joyce, a painter who works there 20 hours a week

Blackberry Izze Soda (owned by Pepsi Cola unfortunately) to drink

they have craft beers too we didn’t want beer we enjoyed our lunch

more or less perfect also the day pot store etc and agreed  for sure

We’ll Go Back.


Like September 18

If I were to write a book of poems

one for every day  titles could be

dates like September 18 and while the poems

don’t have to describe the day necessarily

(maybe Netanyahu didn’t win.  We are driving

to the pot store.  Late this afternoon I’ll

take another piano lesson.  We are still in the country

and these last days this one too inconceivable

and I don’t know the words for this light. Though I try)

I could, if I wanted, describe this day

or make one up (we will drive to the Adirondacks

because it is beautiful and then,

maybe we will climb.)

What We Remember

We met in Old Saybrook a year ago

in a warm pool in a spa hotel right on the water.

You said you were the daughter of a famous

artist I don’t remember who you told us

a story of How You Met Your Husband.

handsome Italian who said very little.

he swam beside you in that pool.

You met him and said Yes.  That’s what you

told us.   And then you described about your Famous Father

and the barn where he painted and how who he was

made you want to lead a different kind of life

but you weren’t sure how so you married the handsome

Italian.  Dear Magdalena.  I don’t remember your name.

Or your famous father’s name either.  But I remember

our swimming in that warm October pool and thinking:

will I remember this?

My Last Monday in the Country (for a While) is Today

And what I want to do today

because it is the last Monday here  for a while

when I can decide what can happen

besides this poem and a story that maybe

I’ll finish maybe not  and  later a glass of vodka for

B.B.King’s 94th birthday  a walk to the post office next door

not for  stamps but to hear this summer’s postmistress

explain what happened  over the weekend (not much

though her explanations always worth a walk) and maybe

then I will drive to the Buddhist monastery in South Cairo New York

unlikely place for Buddhists and monasteries

but here we are here we all are for now

Friday the 13th

An Omen is a Sign

maybe good and maybe bad

from Somewhere Else

that today that tonight or this morning

or This New Year or even right now

when the red bird sits on the porch

and actually seems to smile at me

do birds smile I’ll google the answer

when I finish this poem

a red bird

smiles at me on Friday the 13th

and All whatever All might be

is better than OK.  It’s Good.

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