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 lights shudder


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.


April 29, 2015 § Leave a comment

love is a mountain I will not climb

without looking down, down

at the moons I’ve passed time, and time again,

love is a song I will not claim

without looking around for him

woman, kol isha, and pain

love, love is a dream I will not

covet until given, until loved-

to the measure of the mountain, to the measure of the song

is this, G-d, waiting?

A poem for Savta Sara by Dylan

April 26, 2015 § Leave a comment

And death shall have no dominion.
Dead man naked they shall be one
With the man in the wind and the west moon;
When their bones are picked clean and the clean bones gone,
They shall have stars at elbow and foot;
Though they go mad they shall be sane,
Though they sink through the sea they shall rise again;
Though lovers be lost love shall not;
And death shall have no dominion.

second days

April 11, 2015 § Leave a comment

all the men I’ve loved

and loved before

I blew the candles out because I could not sleep

all the men have lost their light

to pray by


and I have lost the hand that counted stars, three

hashkiveinu brings no sleep in a hot night


and the man I love sleeps-


why does he sleep?

how can he sleep?


March 31, 2015 § Leave a comment

And from the fire

Savta Sara’s matzo men

with raisin eyes, and unraised hands


and I won’t forget the hum of the road inside the glass;

seven windows at the front of the house

and four children’s shuttered lives


not enough for me to pass over

through, or under.

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