arriving, portland maine

darlingbig

cigaretting up
on the fire escape
it’s january first.

renter’s insurance
our names
in ink
in target with a big red
shopping cart and furniture
folded up, undone
driving home lost
familiarity a gift
quiet
now just me and darling
the cat now
for a little
while

shoveling snow
is a lot of work
and there’s one paperwhite
bloom
in the window

walking through town
rosy coat to knees
up high right
on congress
local sprouts a house
mug a buck
twenty five across
the street a general store
i liked,
memory isolated –
soon went out
of business
after
that day i went in
looking for a screwdriver.

snow and sidewalks
made of red
bricks. napping not
knowing how
to get started
staring at new pale
walls fumbling
forgetting
things

leaving providence

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things in boxes
that used to hold pears
and i am scrubbing cabinets
window panes hallway
floors thinking i’ve hated
this house thinking
yes, i’ve loved
this house

at work cleaning out
another locker, another
family now floating –

wade
with the blue eyes,
kind seth, and leanne
who always said,
“what a nice lady.”
the sues, and steve just
something about that man
i loved

u-haul, strange
to own furniture and everything’s
loaded and i don’t even stop
for a last look i just
completely forgot

new york city, june 2010

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lines
of morning
corner entrance –
café
grumpy, then
el beit back
patio,
danielle

summer
somehow
though found
a new
(expensive)
sweater, sighing
this weather’s months
away still but
the colour the way
it’s woven (!) laughing
she says –
“it’s okay it’s
a good one it’s
your new york
sweater.”

scented
sunscreen,
i am walking
like i’ve lived
here for years past
stoops, people
strewn,
a casualness
pretending
i could know them
past potted
begonias
assorted herbs past
delis and diners
little italy
walking

in a dress, my
hair turned
over
in a bun, we
with sarah
in squares –
times, herald
one of those
tiny tables
middle
of the street
her accent
taking me there
together
reminiscent our
english village
and waitressing –
what that was
like and has anyone
heard from aude
(?)

expressways
and i think of
brooklyn queens,
an album i confess
i never listened to.
jacob riis beach
is not as nice
as fort tilden,
i hear
sunburn, rosy
back swimming
in the pacific
in a dress.
ocean thinking
actually
wanting to find
seaglass, pale
those pieces how
gentle
they’ve turned
back home
on north henry –
milkshakes
and aloe,
suntired napping.
then quickly
on the bike down driggs
down twelfth down
kent
avenue, and

there’s a tree
in mccarren park
one i’m beneath
and come back
to a tree it
means something
this one,
to me.

portland maine, april 2012

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cloudy sleep in laundry
my big red pot
simmering
house dress big
sweatshirt napping
sort
of day
and i always overload
the washing machine

o pioneers!
marie and emil
and alexandra belonging
to the land, brave
bicycle
up munjoy hill
how it suddenly opens-
the view, opens
up the way it widens
suddenly to water
to islands and sail
boats
boba tea and
hairs cross
my cheeks
bright.
bright and warm
just me and willa
and clementines

ahmed playing keys
at blue on saturday
“alabama”
“everything happens to me”

telescoping
connectedness
aiden
yesteryear
lark

oh, and
“things
fall apart.”

new years eve, 2010

swiss beer fondue
german champagne
bûche du noël

small unpackings
the necessary ones
forks and plates
plugging in lamps
arranging
the living room
our mattress still
in the center you
asleep and i’m nudging
whisper hey it’s almost
midnight-

dreaming, november 2011

17big

at someone else’s
house i am falling
asleep, fires
in bedrooms people
yelling-

i am in a car,
a van
an old friend.
is wearing a vest
and grinning
having
the time of our lives
walking down
town i’m not sure
if i’m visiting him
or he me,
the colours
darkened, lights
are dimmed

in london.
passenger seat
almost night my zumi
camera up
to the window
recording it all
passing-
a carnival, trees
a theatre with large
murals passing
in blurs the car
with kayleigh,
she has printed out
maps and i hold them
up and say- see?
london streets
are all curving
and they change names
two three times.

we are going to lunch
at a table with yellow
flowers and i’m trying
to keep them
from falling
into the vase it’s
too big
and the flowers they
are small.

in london still
but it’s india.
a hotel bedroom
underground and i can’t
breathe right.
beds are big
and soft, thick
layers of dust
around windows,
somehow a breeze
coming in.
i’m there with O-lan
from “the good earth”
and i tell her
please, i’d like
to go see the land.
there are people sitting
around now, listening
to me. the room
has bright colours
and everyone is drinking tea.

august 5th, 2010

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“already
my body is a twilight: solid. gold
at the edge of a larger darkness.
but outside
my window
a summer day is beginning. apple trees
appear, one by one. light is pouring
into the promise of fruit.”
– eavan boland

roger williams park
afternooning
in the swans
paddling
on a lake

walking
japanese gardens
lunching
pita and raita
yellow plums lemon
cookies

lily pads little
bridges, your
camera up close –
blue dragonfly.
swans the ducks
they are brown and we
are feeding them
pepitas we
are strolling
just strolling

in evening
wearing red
yarn tied
up in hair
because i miss some things
about myself
sometimes.

we are reading
the “grean tee” email
couches, taking
turns with pauses
elaborations
together remembering
a beginning
a bedtime
story that one of peter
and wendy yes
that one.

philadelphia songs

philadelphia

washington square, twice
sore ankles
streets named after trees
i wanted to sit by
the delaware river
think about those bridges
bright yellow in
pittsburgh

autumn, rhode island

treesbig

pumpkinsbig

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swan point, cemetery
leaves like butter
flies twirling
in air, as girls do
in pretty dresses.
and the sugar maples
they are lit up.

to johnston,
a patch, picking
a long island cheese
a cinderella

how to keep
this autumn
little shivers
nose sniffles
and you say my hair
sometimes
is the colour
of copper

maine, january 2012

5big

field notes
yellow threaded quilts
groceries
champagne
copycats
clouded
pinhole

at last, snow
plows fumbling
down streets

a memory theatre
things by my bedside
teabags, barrettes
things in the corner
all the same colour
suitcase, type
writer wooden box
bright pale blue, there-
like siblings.

snow funny under
in my navy madeline
coat, on ice shuffling
today missing
my dad.

memories of the future
how remembering one thing
is at least two
things.

monet- boulevard st.denis,
argenteuil, in winter (1875)