Fleeting Moments at 40

There’s no other way to explain the trip: it was an adventure. I had no idea how much planning, coordinating, and anxiety would go into what was meant to be a family vacation and research grant. I was excited to go. I’d always wanted to visit Samaná, a region steeped in history and culture that felt both familiar and foreign. Born and raised in Harlem, a predominantly Black historic neighborhood in New York City bordering Washington Heights, a Dominican neighborhood, I’ve long been curious about the ways these worlds intersect, not just in NYC but in the Dominican Republic itself. Samaná held a unique place in my imagination, having been intended as a Black nation in the early 1800s when it was all Haiti, following the Haitian Revolution. It was a trip of a lifetime, and I wanted my family to experience it with me. After all, I hadn’t been to the DR in 25 years! It felt like discovering it all over again. Our adventure began early, on Sunday, June 1. We woke up at 4 a.m. and began what...

The movie  One of Them Days  is funny, but when one of them days happens to me, I don’t find it funny. Although, admittedly, nothing in my day beats the craziness in the movie. Today was my students’ long-awaited trip for their civic grant project. We toured the mayor’s office and met him in person. That alone is exciting, nerve-racking, and purely exhausting. Trying to keep seven- and eight-year-olds quiet and orderly in an official government building is hard work, especially when they’re used to so much freedom at their progressive private independent school. Follow the tour guide? More like the tour guide shall follow me! I started the trip already tired, thanks to: The logistics of planning every detail of the trip. Being on your period. Seasonal allergies that make your throat unbearably dry. Questioning if it’s all the wine—or anxiety whispering it might be mold somewhere. Regular ol’ morning parenting, where everyone is grumpy, and no one wants to wake up or get going....

To be 41 is health concerns, surrender, nostalgic trips back home, scary flights where you think your children might lose a parent, thyroid issues that might explain your bitchiness, and life's path always having that bend at the end that you didn’t see coming.

I come to you, journaling from the end of a Mom night out, a spontaneous rejection of tantrums and parenting. I dropped them off, fed them, fed the dogs, and left. I grabbed tacos and a beer on one side at one bar, a cheeseburger and a High Noon at another. Watermelon Vodka, to be exact. I enjoyed beautiful views, crowds, wonderful music. I called a couple of mom friends and they told me to live it up for all moms. And it all ended with art. Relevant art. A perfect night. It was indeed a beautiful moment. That’s ours. Now, back to the grind.

You do what you love while buzzing on the inside and caffeine hasn’t even hit your bloodstream construction worker headphones to drown out the tantrum the bills the reality of aging the realities of health all the things you want to sort out that God says to hand Him still swirl in your head creating a whirlpool deep and dark and you can just see yourself trying to stay out of the middle write, write, write write poetry, just write

Yesterday was a sunny warm day after so many long and snowy ones, so I decided to take my two youngest on a walk after school across a pedestrian bridge with beautiful views of the Ohio River and the two waterfront cities that connect over it. It would have been great for my oldest to have also joined us, but she had her first ever job training and needed to try out a different city bus route than her usual. Our walk started off really well. The waterfront area was full of people, ready for this little glimpse of spring. Bikes, roller skates, strollers, runners, dogs, kids, everyone out and about. We walked and chatted, fully taking in the unusual warmth. The ice cream and boba spots were closed, so we decided to go for the hibachi and sushi restaurant that also has boba. My kids had a little bit of a tough time sitting and showing restaurant manners, but things were going well and the food was good. I can’t pinpoint the point of transition, but suddenly I found myself in a flustered s...

I’ve always loved poetry I’ve always written poetry I’ve even performed poetry But it never felt prestigious enough to keep doing Those who write novels and memoirs are the real writers, each word crafted carefully. How else does it reach you? And, anyway, aren’t there too many people in the world now for me to have anything to give? Poetry says there’s always something to give.