I have three poems in the June issue of the New English Review. Here is the second poem:

Roaches

Dad said the tenement shuddered
when the furnace finally
flamed out.
–
It was 1 A.M on a February
Saturday, and by sunrise
there was no way to stay
–
warm. We wore
everything we owned
and huddled over the kitchen stove.
–
Around us,
Brownsville burned.
The tenements
–
and brownstones
had not been kept up,
and needed repairs
–
that went beyond
string and tape.
The landlords fled
–
“to wherever cockroaches
go in the day,” mom said,
with her usual flair
–
for words.
We moved in with
mom’s mom
–
for the next few months
in a tiny apartment
on Riverdale Avenue.
–
My grandmother
hated my father
and fought with my mom,
–
but at night
and in the morning
I was warm.