Love Poem in a Laundromat. In Sections.

1.    A small boy watches greedily a father-son pool game. He sits, head in his hands wanting to join in.

I want to join in too.

I, too, want a piece of this camaraderie.

2.    Laundromats, public restrooms, airports, bus stops.

Transient places. The most beautiful.

3.    The small boy has now covered his face, making a peep hole with his hands, hiding.

4.    I hide, too. In politeness, in hard work.
I hide in braided hair and a fast paced stride.

5.    Not always.
Sometimes I’m honest as moth wings,
dancing in the stairwells, the Laundromats, across the streets.
A yawn, a reminder.

6.    A reminder that, like the man on his laptop, we all put our head in our hands, pay rent once a month, want to join in.

7.    What would it look like,
to fully give in to love?

8.    I think this clean, speckled gray tile floor would be dirtied,
maybe we could all play pool,
or maybe I would fold her laundry, or offer that small boy my markers so he could draw a picture.

9.    What would that look like?

10.  To give in to love?
 To live there, in the love?

Tuesday Morning

I wake early, the moon and stars still dance.

The sun has not yet traveled this far around our globe.

Tired flows through my muscles, and I rise.

You give me joy,

it is a hunger.

Today is rest for my body, but my soul is finally awake. 

I do not work today. 

I talk with You.

I read. 

I make eggs with spinach and cheddar cheese.

I listen to prayer in another language.

I listen to soft movie music and write.

10:24AM

Soon, a friend will come for tea, 

and then I will meet another later. 

You fill me up. You fill me up. I say this twice to realize it is true. Isa fills me up.

This day is a gift. 

Your presence, indeed, a gift.

Day

I woke up at 6.

School was cancelled so my roommates were around all day. :)

I made real soup,
had people over,
played,
LAUGHED,
studied Farsi,
read a lot,
danced,
shoveled.

productive, good day.

Tomorrow, and then Friday I work!

Enoughness

and this is enough.
this walk in the snow,
this morning of words
this remembering of a rainy
July and this cup of tea
next to the window.
this is enough,
observation of women sharing
stories and men reading papers,
fingers stained with black ink,
listening.

Joy

"I thank my God every time I remember you…"

Whenever I look back on my trips to Hungary, I am overwhelmed with thankfulness. So much that I laugh. Every memory is laughable, the good, the bad, the beautiful.

thankful.

Love Poem to my Roommates, Part 1

A looks sharp in purple.

She speaks clear; she knows what she says.

G shares joy in all the flavors.

L has an opera house in her bedroom.

K listens strong,

always willing to accept a hug.

L is a hug.

T dances all day.

She exudes spunk.

G feeds the lionhearted.

This is how we breathe,

with strong words that echo His.

Julys Part 1

I’ve forgotten how to write things without fear. I’ve forgotten how to write without worrying about using a word like things.

My favorite season is January. My favorite things happened in Julys.

It is not about how the days were spent or what was said.

It is not about the temperature of the air

or what we ate.

It is how the napkins waited, how the water glasses sat empty.

It is how it wasn’t as hot as we expected it to be, how it rained, how the room smelled damp.

Sunsets and tea.

How we grew.

In July I lived.

Every action was measured.

                            meaningful.

Everyone knew it.

…………

These words mean more than their letters.

I know who I am.

Being a woman is always an honor.

…………

This is how I breathed.

I’m tired of pleasantries.

…………

Not to say it was paradise.

It wasn’t paradise.

It was

so

hard.

but you don’t shy away from the hard

because that’s where

it’s beautiful, full of
meaning, full of life.