It is a wonder that my eyes
may see the city from such
varied perches, day to day:

By bus–elevated so that
I may gaze indulgently
into wet, dirt-caked
cavities of construction sites
hidden when I am

By bike, so that the flawed
contours of road, frenzied
traffic patterns spill soft
city breath on my cheeks,
so stilled when I am

By foot, so that I may watch,
observe, stop at the apex of the
Walnut Street Bridge and see
(for the first time) clumps of
bright clothing, remnants
of bicycles, water bottles
sticking to the concrete
embankment below.

This poem was written on January 25, 2012, before I could even conceive of moving out west.



Having skittered clear
across the wet intersection,
one regretful person
(clutched in terror)
was the reason for
standstill traffic

Finally, it was my
turn to rubberneck,
when this ominous,
arresting image
caught me instead:

a procession of
autos, snaked miles
into the distance–

a thousand   p  u  f   f   s  s
of exhaust breath
hanging still
in the night


Darling as she was,
body scoot-scooting down
the hall–

pitter-patter nails on cement,
racing her owner to the
elevator, where I wait
at 8:30am

Two-pound Chihuahua,
blind as a bat

It is the sort of place
where dogs flee unleashed
through parking garages,
in elevators, through
open apartment doors
(in summer)

Leashes are carried,
administered sparingly
(on sidewalks, mostly)

And while sometimes
stressful, the dogs
aren’t the only ones

who find it freeing

Alfie looking angelic

Our Alfie 🙂


Together, we forgive the rind
with a sharpened knife

You split with force
the egg-shaped squash

Whose entrails I spoon
onto the butcher’s block

Spreading like an orange
net, loaded with teardrop seeds

The belly of our oven is
amber-glowing, ready