A friend asked me the other day if I ever get writer's block. And I didn't quite know how to answer. Because I never have the feeling that I must write but can't for whatever reason. I don't have publisher deadlines or a book to complete. Yes, I can have moments of feeling meh and low energy and not in any kind of creative vibe. But block? Not really. Because poetry is my way of finding my place in and making sense of this world. One of my daughters says I externalize my inne

i'm at the mall getting my computer looked at, battery low and chatting with the expert donning a cream-colored cowboy hat and southern drawl, he sees my san diego sweatshirt and asks if i'm from out of town too complicated to say i left during a war, with a toothbrush and bottle of water, that everything i wear is borrowed from my mom, so i say i'm visiting family i'm moving to l.a. in a few months he says and tells me about just getting out of the army and wanting t

i'm in the checkout line when i hear the checker say shit under her breath and grab some paper towels and a plastic bag to wrap up the exploded kimchi oh sorry, i say, as she wipes the orange pungent garlicky sauce off her hands do you want to run and get another one? she asks and i think about it and say nah, maybe it's a sign i shouldn't get it she nods her head and says, i hear ya they're everywhere, those signs, i say but are we looking? and i nod and she no

the mats are purple, the light is dimmed, candles line the room, my space has a number eighteen, the auspicious jewish number, maybe it is a sign the class is called zen or glow or something that says settle in, fall in, breathe, rest i am still finding my way in we start with some stretches, some cats some cows, upward dogs, downwards ones too the music is jazzy and i like the vibe in this dark womb space the woman in front of me has a t-shirt with medusa on th

we are looking both ways, uncertain if we're on the correct side toward hyde park? says a lady with a carryon next to her knee, the underside of her forearm extended yes, i say you're in the right place she responds, eyes a bit red i notice a tattoo on that underside arm and say i love your tattoo! origami? crane? she says yes to the origami but the bird is a duck, and i apologize and she says it's ok they're both birds and since the train is taking forever i as

i am learning i can not. Lucille Clifton i drag myself in, all clenching, tight fists in ligaments, i want not to feel this, my body wants not to feel so hard where is the soft ground to collapse? i know how to clench to lock knees, touch toes and disconnect from pulled muscles in thighs and hamstrings i know how to whisper in my own ear, stop being so sensitive, it's not that big of a deal, this will only make you stronger i know how to appear firm and flexible,

it's grey when we start up the mountain, and early, but we want to catch the moon at its fullest moon in aquarius, i tell her on the way we talk about the power of manifesting, intention and belief, about in betweens and liminal spaces and beginnings, isn't life a series of beginnings? i follow her lead as she bounds up the mountain as if her legs were made for this, at ease with the climb and altitude, with slipperiness and steep rocks i trail behind, my pace cauti

it's gloomy texts my daughter when i send a selfie of me at the sea, oh no, i say and send another a papa and son jumping in waves both squealing, a dance of cranes dipping toes, like mine, massages by foam the waves are majestic today i say and send the imagine dragons song i'm playing on repeat, the line i'm an apostrophe gets me the little curve at the top of a word, a turn inward, i am all alone this morning, and not the wind pushes my back, the sand, born f

A walk in the green I am talking to my mother on the phone, she is walking. In Point Loma in tidepools. I remember my child self, waiting for low tides so we could see little creatures in tidepools. Feel their slimy bodies slip through little fingers. Watch forever seals beached on sand. All that feels so far away. Today from already humid and hot thick with green Midwest. My temporary home. I ask my husband, is it summer now? I have forgotten what season we are in. What mo

How much of this truth can I bear to see and still live unblinded? Audre Lorde this is the story of a girl untold this is the story of a girl smashed into innumerable shards, this is the story of a girl who learns to blind her sight this is the story of a girl that starts when she is fifty-six, just your average joe, but she is no average joe, she is a jack of all trades, wearer of masks a superhero whose superpower is to unsee the evil he did and the evil he said a

precious We all walk in shoes that are too small for us. Carl Jung it's the nails that first catch my eye, royal blue, primary blue he is showing me the vintage lip gloss is the red - red? i ask and he says something about red-dye number something and i laugh no not the dye, at my age i don't think about chemicals, i just want to know if my lips will pop! oh girl yes, he says but you're already gorgeous and i tell him he's gorgeous! then wander around the vintag

What color the underside of skin? Mark Doty asks mr doty in his lines about a crab but really i think it's about what we hide the wobbly skin that sags with age, the wrinkles we cover with chemically created concoctions none of it works, says a gorgeous grandmother pushing her grandbaby down the pharmacy aisle today but really i mr doty is talking about soul scars, the ones we cover up with pithy sayings about resilience and the gold medal for

I am listening to Kendrick Lamar. Tiny nearly broken air pods in my ears. Why God, why do I gotta suffer? The music is as loud as I can make it. To drown out fumes. Bus 68 to Mount Scopus. The University, two worlds pass one another Through a window. Why God, why do I gotta suffer? White Jerusalem stone apartment blocks. Lines of laundry. Fifty feet high. Black. Skirts and trousers. Baby clothes. An old women carrying three plastic bags sits. Next to me, her bags spill over.

this morning strolling through balboa park, past the fountain where my children splashed in summer heat in summer visits to baba down the road from the ficus i'd climb with kim and jimmy, the ficus that offered shade and stumps to sit where i hid with pen and paper and my first attempts at verse across from the theatre where I first stood on stage all makeuped under blinding lights breaking legs and swimming with butterflies this morning strolling i see a sign that read

i say. step back world. can't let it go unsaid. Sonia Sanchez as per usual since i've been here, in this holding space in my childhood home, mom and i start the day with a check-in of sorts, strong coffee for me and water and vitamins for her how are you? i ask and she smiles, says the sciatica let her sleep, and you? and i want to say something similar, minus sciatica, i want to say all the yoga is working and the daily breathwork and meditation, that the long walks on

i walk around the corner to buy a coffee, our last few minutes before driving up north, she is sad to say goodbye, though she knows goodbye, how many schools before the age of 5? and languages learned every home has stories, some we are happy to erase, some we bury away, carry that note written, a mommy i love you, in your wallet, still the curtainless windows of her top-floor flat look out to the empire state, she tells me of pride marching by and the days she was snowed

be careful there is a dog underneath, she warns as i slide in, the long table at the cafe that has become my new poetry home and just as i'm about to say i love dogs, i see a frenetic deep pumpkin red tail that could only belong to a golden his name is joey, she says and instantly i'm scratching his belly and behind his ears and start to feel a bit weepy and tell her about our riley who loved the world and believed the world loved him when did he pass?she asks, and i te

i learned to whisper and roar. Lucille Clifton like lucille, i learned to whisper and roar imagine a raw untouched piece of marble, think carrerra, think gooey soft yellowy perfection handed to a man with a wooden plaque on a wall engraved, kanji letters saying discipline a wooden plaque the size of my seven year old legs, a memento from his time in tokyo, a wooden plaque he used to engrave discipline into the gooey perfection of my baby flesh, each blow, a le

Listen to the secret sound, the real sound, which is inside you. Kabir Nothing I accept about myself can be used against me to diminish me Audre Lorde say thank you to yourself, says the teacher, for showing up we close our eyes, but i can't find thank you instead i say sorry to myself, which feels like some distant foreign language buzzing in my ears, but then it brings tears and i can't stop saying sorry for all the ways i did not say thank you

Your silence will not protect you. Audre Lorde One day I will tell you what I've been. It will scare you. Yrsa Daley-Ward i thought a good life would be enough to erase re create re do or maybe undo what was done to me i refused to wear the cloak of that sins of the fathers biblical curse, so i fled the family city religion even my name i changed yesterday my mom asks me if I know why we pray