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.

 

Where Am I?

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