Good Idea

It's a tad dark and blurry, but the sign reads: Do Not Enter. And in spray paint: Iran.

Seen by The Smelly Cat Coffeehouse, NoDa, on the evening July 24.

Pleasures

I don’t care if it is mid-July, the heat suffocating, the winter a forgotten twist of dead branch: Nothing pleases me more than the Van Gogh swirls of cream in a cup of hot tea.

(Photo: English Tea from lunch at Creation, today, July 17.)

Just a reminder...

(Photo: The only tourist moment I had, by the subway entrance next to Macy’s.)

Somewhere off of 13th St. and 5th Ave., as my mom and I were walking and chatting, a man stopped in front of me, looked me dead in the eyes and said,
“Jesus loves you.”

I sidestepped him, and gave a moment’s thought before turning my head and replying.
My mom didn’t hear what either of us said, but saw the man stop and heard me say something back.

She was protective and asked briskly, “What did that man say to you?” Her step fell beside mine in a natural movement as we continued our walk down the street.

“Jesus loves you.”

“Oh.” My mom relaxed. “What did you say to him?”

“Thank you.”

Simply, it seemed like the most appropriate response.

Those Summer Nights

I write poetry in my dreams but seem to have a hard time in real waking life.

The rain has stopped, leaving the Queen City wearing a drenched, heavy ball gown of steam and drooping branches; a chill in the night air; the scent of asphalt, crushed crepe myrtle petals and a heavy indescribable scent that clings to skin, of smog and leaves and the wings of green bugs.

It is summer again, fully ripened, burst from the vine.


(Photo: Skyline seen from the parking deck of Kings by Target, sunset, July 10.)

Lost

Sad. Somewhere between my desk and Creation Restaurant, I lost this earring’s mate. Which is why one should never pay more than Target prices for shiny, swingy earrings.
(I really liked that pair too!)