Life

An F train ride becomes a meditation on time — the old man across the aisle, two women smiling across a divide at 18th Avenue, and the question of whether to change the channel or rewrite the ending.

after “Just Like Tom Thumb’s Blues” by Bob Dylan She was a dark-skinned princess without a kingdom, though she had no shortage of suitors — myself among them. We just stood there smiling, posing, trying not to be taken for urchins in need of salvation. Why she chose me out of all the orphans from… Read more: Just Like Sweet Melinda’s Blues

Rainy days bring memories of sitting in my apartment on East 14th and waiting for the rain to stop. Growing up we didn’t spend too much time indoors. We would spend our time either playing ball, walking around or simply sitting on a stoop talking. When it rained, we were stuck at home. The TV… Read more: Rainy Days

A poem about walking through the seasons of a life — and the one thing we keep asking for.

Autumn in my Brooklyn neighborhood felt like a rebirth — stiff corduroy pants, the bus stop at East 4th and Kings Highway, Eve, and the Carvel on East 3rd. I’m sixty now. Why try and change?