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.