A Poestenkill Haiku

The barn hides in night

Jackie makes lasagna soup

I think up big things

That's the view from my bedroom window. When the snow subsides and the temperature warms up a bit, I hope to venture out there behind my house into the wilderness. What will I find? Will there be space enough for a hootenanny? How many dead bodies will I find hanging from the beams? Will I even find a way inside? I like to think there will be a loft of forgotten hay that now belongs to friendly woodland creatures who will greet me whenever I go to explore. I hope it'll be just difficult enough to get inside, that I have to force open the door with the heel of my booted foot. Earning entry will make it much more magical. Note to self: buy some boots.

I have officially been living here for a month. And I have to say, I enjoy my current level of domestication. I like having a queen-sized bed even though half of it is empty, save for various remotes, books, and pillows. I like cooking chili and chicken flautas and every other upcoming meal. I like living two minutes down the road from my sister, brother-in-law, and nieces. I like living two minutes down the road from free food. I like living with my good friend who makes homemade bread. I like that I have digital cable. I like that my whale drawings are hanging in the living room next to my friend's awesome multi-colored tin stars. I like that we have two fish named Jane and Orson. I like that all of my books are in one place. I like that my Ol Dirty Bastard autograph is finally framed and hanging. I like that I can have my older niece over for sleepovers where we can build Lego ninja castles and watch Aladdin. I like that I can reconnect with the people here who I've always wanted to get to know better. I like that I have the solitude and quiet to create when I want to. I like that I have time to watch movies. I like that I can sing and cry while I drive in the rain.

But I miss New York City. I miss Broome Street. I miss walking everywhere and I miss the West River and I miss the trek back to my apartment along Lafayette and I miss the contemplation and I miss the homeless man who shouted out that we were all lesbians and I miss that one connection made while walking through St. Marks and I miss 16 Handles and I miss hoping for handholding and I miss the terrible writing in the Park and I miss the singing Van Morrison in the Park and I miss the expensive quesadillas and I miss the scary early morning trips to Brooklyn to make a film for strangers and I miss the Wonder Wheel and I miss the mechanical vomiting plastic man in the glass box and I miss crawling out on the rocks and I miss the kiss on the cheek in front of the Cyclone and I miss the films about our dead God and I miss the trip up 5 flights of stairs to store our frozen meals so we could go to a movie and I miss the taking shots out of NyQuil cups and I miss the only trip I ever took to go to a club and I miss the hidden manischewitz in water bottles and I miss the failed karaoke trip to K-Town and I miss the head-down-walking listening to "Say That You Love Me" on repeat stomping home and I miss the anticipation and I miss the dinners and plays with geniuses and I miss the glow of passionate professors and I miss the tipsy tromping through late night streets going home from parties we didn't want to go to and I miss getting recognized in the dining hall and I miss the grumpy book sellers yelling at me and I miss looking for books recommended in the same library where lives ended and I miss the unspoken understanding of like minds and and I miss arroz con pollo and I miss Angel delivering our pizza made by Mohammed and I miss getting nervous before everything and I miss unexpected hugs and I miss the 10-hour shifts and I miss the distance between me and infinite trouble and I miss the winter coats and hats and fogged glasses and I miss my bed being buried in research and I miss staying in a little box while everything continued on the outside and I miss afternoons in bed with the sun throwing shade through my downtown blinds and I miss the excitement of lunches and I miss the seaport and I miss the sailboats and I miss being on the edge of big things and I miss the winding streets of the village and I miss the noticing people around Washington Square that you see everyday but don't know their name but seeing them is a comfort all the same. Even if they're wearing leggings as pants while it's 20 degrees out. What I miss the most is the people. The people I know and the people I haven't met yet. And the people in between.

But, I will be back. Oh, I will be back. I just had to take a break for a while, city. But I will visit you and someday, after I have a healthy dose of adventures in other worlds, I might be back for good. We'll see. There are no answers to these questions. Just sit tight.