portion for foxes.

each night the red fox comes

and turns, and looks at me

and I do not follow him into the bedroom

I run to Abba, and drink my milk.

each night the red fox comes;

when I wake I am sweating and trembling and lie

room lit for thirty seconds

when I drift back I cannot avoid his eyes, for they are my own

full of all the wrong things I’ve done-

both leaving and returning to me

night after night, as though I am trying to purge myself

of myself.

each night the red fox comes

and burns me up;

I close the door on the me that made love without love

I shut down the dream as though it were not my soul ending.

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Shabbat shalom

habits.

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.

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:

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.

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

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