Old Friend

August 21, 2019 § Leave a comment

They, who pulled the stars from the heavens

Took the light from your eyes

As though it were too bright

Too childish

Everything it should not be.

 

When I see you standing in alpine photographs

Tall and broken in your bekishe

I think of my grandfather

And of how nothing had to be this way, actually.

 

It could have been bright, like the stars.

 

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Mishpacha

March 31, 2019 § Leave a comment

Don’t think of me as a woman you loved.

Think of me as a woman you lost because I am a woman.

Think of my madness in all of its unreasonable glory, my unbrushed hair, my inability to ignore streetcats.

Love me for my togetherness, and the moments in which I shattered like a planet that had held out for too long.

Mourn me like that woman. Resurrect me when your mother is carried down from her five-bedroom apartment to her levaya, with her heart beating in your chest.

We are family, after all.

Youth

March 24, 2019 § Leave a comment

After all of these years, you are still the most beautiful person you know. Sad eyes, soft eyes, soft skin, soft on the inside and on the outside with a slight strain of tension from time to time.

When you complete the project to build and destroy yourself, you will return to the woman you were. The circle is actually clean. It does not age. You do.

 

 

From Ancona to Haifa

March 24, 2019 § Leave a comment

Everyone wanted you to be okay so you stood on the edge of a beautiful cliff looking at the sea beyond the port.

You have been here three times before.

Haifa.

Marseille.

Ancona.

Each time licking your wounds as though they were flavoured to remind you of childhood, in order to be cleaned.

They were some wounds.

Loch Ness too. Not a port town, but in many ways, the wound reflected that. It was superficial.

All those closed doors and empty homes of Haifa after shkiah remind you of the light that has gone out inside you.

You rush home to make havdalah and lech lecha.

 

yom shlishi

May 27, 2015 § Leave a comment

the woman carrying the melon in her arms

is a mother

the light falls on her feet as to water

the light shudders

Who forgot Sefirot

May 11, 2015 § Leave a comment

raspberries take me back

it’s Shavuot

your pavlova in my arms

I’m running, I scar my arm

Sabba picks me up and throws me high

I forget everything-

the Omer is over.

lag b’omer 5775

May 3, 2015 § Leave a comment

Emet Emet

the shul is dry, the ground is wet

I don’t know why. I haven’t cried

here, for years.

yom kippur five seven five five

when I lost Ima to the wretched

wife of rav katz.

but my heart, my heart

says the ground is wet and my eyes

otherwise, emet.