Icicle winter mornings in

insistent bird chirps

our only alarm

Land was sparkling green

laid out in front of me,

still drenched from morning dew.

I walked in the park today along the thin stretch of dried green grass that runs along the ocean where we used to walk on Sunday mornings

I am from…carob tree pea pods
that tasted bitter when you bit into them.

I don't remember what my father smelled like after breathing him in.

My Chagall is not an original.
It is a print.
Which we found together,
my lover and I,
in Warsaw, Poland.

I think sometimes of that bright steamy summer in 1964
when my parents made their move west.

My toddler son picked up a toy Star yesterday.
And said it was a Moon.

When I reach my hands across the restaurant table to hold yours, you grasp them, our fingers quickly intertwine.