grief
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my dad died before I was born. I can say I know him better now than I did when he was alive. there are photographs. some of his clothes and shoes are still in my mom’s bedroom closet. we have his bottle of aftershave and little things he collected, like old metro and transit tokens…
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the rest of America sits on porches, but in summertime in New York City people sit on stoops. they’re front-row seats on life here. the city-version of the old-time rocking chair. it’s where you people-watch, and hear stories, gossip, and some good rumors. we don’t have stoops where I live but other sections of Brooklyn…
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in group we tell each other you can’t recover if you don’t know what you’re recovering from. I don’t know exactly what I am recovering from. hurt, maybe? hurt is almost always telling me a truth. all this week I was thinking about the times I stood on the toilet seat holding the stall door…
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today I am coping with the loss of a friend who was in recovery. he was 26. this isn’t the first time someone in group didn’t make it. when it happened before, a counselor came and told us a bunch of things I wrote down in my notebook and recite each day. she said we…
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as a songwriter and performer, the work of opening the heart can be a lot.it can seem like you’re going around feeling everything — and that can be overwhelming. the audiences I seem to connect with the most are the ones that are feeling some of the same things I am. sometimes I play for…
cookie nieves 