habits.

February 26, 2015 § Leave a comment

when I look at the moon

and the gold and the fringe of red

and my bed, with me on it

and I don’t know what I believe in

if anything

Terumah.

February 22, 2015 § Leave a comment

we Jewesses, have a darkness inside us

that we bury into our children

that is neither memory nor thing

but space, that He may dwell amongst us-

for this we have silenced ourselves

and the song is the salt of our existence

and nobody dreams without us

and nobody dreams without us.

a dream:

February 22, 2015 § Leave a comment

that I am well and inside myself

that I am well and have not been abandoned by myself

.

motze shabbat is marked by your absence

clearing out the candles: a dream,

.

that I am well and I can feel

Marseille XI.

September 9, 2014 § 2 Comments

I would be happy to earn a pittance and sacrifice

letters after multiple names if it meant I could

 

write

like this

 

to be listened to in the stillness of the post-harvest night;

we have forgotten how to dream and it visits our faces

 

like

that stillness.

for rav laura janner-klausner, sage & mother

September 3, 2014 § Leave a comment

we may not be

slits, white, on a new moon night

eyeworthy

loveworthy

but we will be

worshipped from the inside out; our song is silence

 

olam ha’zeh, olam haba;

we are your daughters and mothers

 

 

 

 

that’s no way to say goodbye.

March 7, 2014 § 3 Comments

my father loved cohen:

“let’s not talk of love or chains and things we can’t untie”

my mother did not thrive on sadness, or

had already been through those wars.

whatever: she never let it near, enough to hear the darkness

in the chords.

 

post-fear.

March 5, 2014 § Leave a comment

it’s a state of knowing

this isn’t it. G-d I’m done waiting take me there

now, even if it’s not for me.

I’m tired and I want to be held like a child.

I’m post-fear and I want to be helped up and held.

if that’s no way to say goodbye

take me there now.

I’m done with this patience for sorrow

and smsing captured sunsets that don’t seduce anyone onto the immediacy of a Boeing

or into the urgent eye of post-fear panic syndrome.

and I’m a stepping stone until the next-big-thing

and I’m a leonard-cohen-track demanding to be drowned out rather than half-listened-to

and I’m background noise desperately seeking the attention of a wayward spotlight

who has his eye on the backstage safety-net multiplicity of me’s.

 

many there are.

here,

have your freedom at the expense of another.

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