"SOHO Singing" a poem by Jess Coffman

SOHO in the summer is
electric.
It's hectic.
It's epic.

The heavy summer midnight
is tossled with hot sticky
winds.

The trees smile as it moves through them, and
I smile at their youthful giddy
delight.

The wind greets me, with
luggage at my hip and
an IPA in hand.

It tickles under my
chin and kisses me softly
on the lips.

I write by single candle
light in this tiny SOHO bar.
It's dark, hiding the flaws
both illuminating and hiding
us all.

My shoulders respond involuntarily
to beats that flood my ears.
There's a gypsy excitement in my
bones.

Everything in my eyeline,
the feel of the air coming
through the windowless bar,
the hip hop music,
everything,
so radically different from
blonde hills, abundant
and fruitful natural
creation, beautiful small
town.

It makes me question who I am.

Is it possible that I am
equally satisfied in small town
simplicity and radical
city life?

But the truth is...yes, I
believe in this moment,
I could never have an
imbalance of one or the
other forever.

I need both.

I need the unpredictability
of the metropolis and
the constancy of utopia.

I thrive in paradox,
embracing it all.
Expanding to open my
arms to all.

A flexible and uprooted
flower growing and
resilient in contrasting
environments.

But am I ever producing
larger fruit? Could I be
more abundant, lead
others better, expand in
my own skin more
gracefully if I was not
constantly uprooting myself?

I'm still vibrant, I'm
still reverent to the sun,
but I can't commit to
just one soil.

What if I die completely
spending too much time
in one place or the other?

I died once,
never to plant
myself anywhere since.

But a single seed could grow,
to feed thousands.

Oh colorful little me, but
what abundance could I
achieve and share with
the world, if I could
grow to my full potential?

How big could I get?

How quickly would I
die?

In one place, I rest.
In one place, I fucking
fight.

The question is how
do I want to live, and
how do I plan to wither
and die?

The problem is...
we can never know how we'll die.

And we come into this world alone,
and we leave this world alone.
Hopefully with blue angels and
an abundance of light in our eyes.

JESS COFFMAN

I am currently here again in Sonoma, CA, posting a poem that I wrote about a month ago, right after I had left these "blonde hills, abundant and fruitful natural creation, beautiful small town."
I was stunned, as I realized that for me, there is equal and opposite abundance in New York City. I was waiting happily at a bar in SOHO, around midnight, right after landing at La Guardia, to meet and stay with two of my favorite people on this earth, Elise Sievert and her delightful husband Kevin Bhushan. These people are two of the most kind, understanding, loving, fun, hard-working and supportive people in my life. I am blessed beyond my imagination with their friendship. Elise has been, and continues to be a super hero in my life. She has made it possible for me to make incredible and risky moves, and through her love I am so honored. She recently saved me from a shady situation while in NYC. In a moment of rest on the E train, after we had laboriously carried all of my most important possessions with us on and off trains in NYC, and up and down stairs, I looked at her with the purest gratitude. All of the sounds, smells and visual distractions melted into soft focus, and all I could see was God in her face. I told her at the time, and we both shed a few tears. Now more than ever now, as I begin to plant myself in a new place, I long for her love, friendship and devotion. Thank-you for loving me so much, and so well. 

This photo was taken inside of a bar called Navy, 

that I sat in while I wrote this poem by candlelight. 

I immediately felt the balmy excitement of a New York City weeknight. 

With an IPA in one hand and my suitcases in the other, 

I looked upon these traffic barriers, so charmed. 

They looked to me, as if they were a street choir, singing the summer song of a SOHO midnight, 

welcoming me back to New York City. 

Peace, Singing and Abundance,

Your Jess