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 lights shudder
May 11, 2015 § Leave a comment
raspberries take me back
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.
May 3, 2015 § Leave a comment
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