in some unusual way.
Not enough to be yours
But enough to experience the flutter
Of taking your hand in mine and enjoying
The warmth of the contact
Like hands stretched over a burning bin.
It’s nice to know that I have a voice
As I tipsily stumble over all the hurt and beauty of this world—
And you listen, and that’s enough for me.
Both of us from the same land,
And from different lands too.
And it’s so nice to feel the magnetic pull of- not happiness, i wouldn't call it that-
but a slow and steady leaking of christmas light warmth from my stomach
to my heart.
Two pints in and there's a smile from my face
Riddled with the cracks of a short but long life
Full of feelings
A big ladle of feelings
In a spoonful of matzoh ball soup kind of place.
Not home, but good enough. My legs are home.
My heart, my chest, my hands, my nose.
So this one’s for you,
Kind child. 1989 was a good year.
Today, a better day than most.
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