a poet’s dream: dispatch from the brooklyn blizzard

dear readers,

the landscape is transformed, snowy drifts, a poet’s dream.  my mom and dad just left this morning, i’m at a cafe on cortelyou, and on my way here it was easy conversation with neighbors i’d never met before, something about being snowed it makes the hard of the city soften every so quietly.  here in the cafe folks are talking about bloomberg with derision, but i can’t say that we mind the chance to slow it down.  i will post more later, especially when cable vision gets its act together and repairs internet service to brooklyn.  but here’s a poem to walk with, on this ski slope called the sidewalk.

roopa's annual holiday session, that's my moms, kyle on my left and laju on the right

famous and her girl, la, and my dad chilling by the tree

 

 

brooklyn blizzard

a poet’s dream

sidewalk scoops of vanilla ice cream

mom and dad and 15 friends came through

24 hour brunch see cuz the trains aren’t running

and now we’re slumber party pontificating

debating on the merits of administrations, race, class and nations

we are singing rumi and hindi and lena horne around the sparkling tree

representing brazil, puerto rico, lebanon, the mid-west, india, nola, cali

and i could go on

this is america

difference is our song

and we sure did sing

moms and me bring

a new recipe to this thing

called love

everything is not what is seems

and i don’t know everything

but i’m learning when i need

to bleed and what i need to read

so i could be up to speed on taking shape

woman take shape is all i hear

when i take my prayer to the mirror

and blow

gale force winds

and powder, sugar dreams

into watertight seams

*

stay tuned dear reader,

roopa

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