Category Archives: Food

For You, From Here

I cannot do this now. The cat meows in tall grass, Tiny body hungry. Let me sleep on it. Bass moves the brick walls downtown. Meanwhile the pier is full of empty wine glasses, Greasy parchment paper in French fry … Continue reading

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White Tents on Mulberry

7:37 am on Mulberry Street. September 20 or 21, 2012. Some days it’s hard to know what day it is. San Genarro should be over, but the street is still lined with white plastic tents; every block the same variety … Continue reading

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While I Wait

“I’m doing well, but I’ve started smoking again. Being home, you know? Linda hasn’t changed.” I shouldn’t be listening to table 73 for snatches of conversation I can use to write poetry, but it feels like we are serving each … Continue reading

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And on the seventh day, God built me a castle.

It is raining on the sabbath, so I wake up slow as God intended. I’ve been reading East of Eden and Rilke’s New Poems, so that German and English can build a city together in me. I make promises less … Continue reading

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Open Letter to Adrian.

When we landed and commuted, and finally entered through the front door on cobblestone, into a courtyard lit from afternoon sun, flowers overflowing from terracotta pots on the stairs, I thought of you. When little Kathi walked toward us holding … Continue reading

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16 of 30. Grace before Sleep

Let me fall asleep while I tell you about Grace, and how she spoke so softly. She used to take me out and show me her favorite brands of jeans and dresses. She’d have me come to McDonald’s with her … Continue reading

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8 of 30. Advice to young writers, I mean waiters

Work like no one’s watching. Like you are dancing toward the lemons. Dance toward the lemons and sing over your customers. Don’t let them hear you. Roll up your sleeves. Try not to spill water on your shirt when opening … Continue reading

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Sunday Evening

Something about slow cooking; onions first, chicken broth, tiny meatballs for the kids. Israeli couscous, basil, garlic, fresh parsely, chives, carrots, celery. Everything in the pot. Three Balthazar baguettes, the first sliced with plastic butter knife. The last two ripped … Continue reading

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we picked the meat off of bones

After baking the yams and stuffing the mushrooms, sliding tables outside together and dumping wet ash from the fire pit into the garden, between searing gizzards with garlic for gravy, and stopping to put on mascara, there were knocks at … Continue reading

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Thanksgiving

It is just after nine. Sun splashed on faded brick fire escape and climbing Ivy of the building beyond our backyard. I’m still in bed. My clothes are on the floor, phone completely unusable on my night table. Today is … Continue reading

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