Selections from
Brooklyn Museum Poems
7
Waiting at the door to the
Great Hall Connecting Cultures
waiting for mind to clear
waiting for the winds to die down
waiting for change
an intuitive push
to a surer future
the elevator doors are closing
missed my chance
8
Watching the dancing waters again
eating a cookie remember the
edits on the press release from this morning,
to artistically cover the windows
of the Ukrainian Institute
with red and white tape signifying danger,
signaling danger
as in the war in Eastern Ukraine
here on Eastern Parkway
Brooklyn Museum Central
it’s the Cherry Blossom Festival
the blossoms are blooming pink
just like they did in DC
where my father took me
as a little girl
strolling hand in hand
me in my little pink dress
& lacy anklets
here on the wide steps
I sit behind a young man
with his big Japanese B-Boy
jacket & long braid down his back
trying not to think of
how much I need to throw out,
give away sell, or pack
at home
9
Another day at the fountain more crowds descend on the Cherry Blossom Festival welcoming spring—guys & gals, some in outrageous costumes, some in traditional Japanese garb—painters & jewelers hawking their wares on the sidewalk—food, ice cream & frozen yogurt trucks line the small section of Eastern Parkway—I escape the crowded gift shop & decide on a hot Jamaican meat patty from Washington Avenue instead of the sandwich I brought from home & a cup of hot black tea with sugar from a nearby magazine shop—a dollar or so cheaper than at the museum and even cheaper than the deli a block closer to the museum—I have started asking the divine creative source of the universe to guide me in the right direction to make the right decision—although some say there is no one right decision all roads leading to Rome & all that—every decision can lead to something extraordinary
10
On the day I gave notice a man in all black except for his black & white checked baseball cap worn backwards dances in front of the fountain with headsets firmly in place—gives an impromptu performance center stage miming manic drumming—hot tea and high winds—man came in Basquiat shop and proclaimed, “one of the greatest artists of the late 20th century was black,” then proceeds to tell us his own story—bought a Basquiat in the ’70s everyone thought was junk—had it appraised and now he’s holding onto it for his pension—his up and down fortunes—made money working on Wall Street then lost it—made money in his own arts centers then lost it—now after a bad divorce & an HIV diagnosis he’s ready to regroup & start again—& soon once again I will start again too
WANDA PHIPPS (http://mindhoney.com) has read and performed music in stand-alone sets and Classic Album shows for Boog for the past three decades. Boog published her first chapbook, Lunch Poems, in 1997. Phipps is a writer/translator/editor living in NYC. Her books include Field of Wanting: Poems of Desire and Wake-Up Calls: 66 Morning Poems. Her poetry has been translated into Ukrainian, Hungarian, Arabic, Galician, and Bangla. She’s received awards from The New York Foundation for the Arts, The National Theater Translation Fund, and others. As a founding member of Yara Arts Group she has collaborated on numerous theatrical productions presented in Ukraine, Kyrgyzstan, Siberia, and at La MaMa, E.T.C. in NYC. She’s curated reading series at The Poetry Project at St. Mark’s Church and written about the arts for Time Out New York, Paper Magazine, and About.com. Her new book Mind Honey is just out from Autonomedia.