Sunday, September 20, 2015
Crack In Time
Crack In Time
Looking up to people:
not all it's cracked
up to be
So much better
to revere
trees or sky
or birds
At least they don't
throw unexpected
temper tantrums
or a third finger
Ever seen a tree
make fun of
denim skirts?
Ever seen
sky
unfriend?
Crack crack
Human shell may break
into small flecks
like Humpty
But it's how birds
get born
Looking down
Looking across
Easy as saints
Until they crack up
Crackdown is just
as bad
Monday, September 14, 2015
The Fires of Autumn
The Fires of Autumn
(To the Memory of My Mother - Millicent Kant (1928-2014)
When autumn came
to the Parkway,
it was as if
the trees decided
to play
with the warmest
colors
they could find
and sent them
to unsettle
everyone who lived there
into dancing
on the most unsettling
air
it could supply.
In my Rosh Hashanah
dreams
you sang,
matching your high notes
to your scarf
as if they became
colors
that already knew
northern autumn.
We were supposed
to be sober
and think.
But when you sang
I could feel nothing
but love that
pretended
to be sad
but lilted
in tones tinged
the deepest of
burning orange.
Day shortened,
but burned
and trembled
all the higher,
like God
vanishing in the
holiest of flames,
if one decided
to believe.
Saturday, September 12, 2015
The Last Bright Days of Elul
The Last Bright Days of Elul
Rosh Hashanah
comes early this year.
I.L. Peretz
wrote of the "last
bright days of Elul,"
the month before
new year's time.
Hot, with nineties
just last week,
sliding to the eighties.
Our climate
lags behind the Russian,
brings a later autumn.
This year,
one year since you left,
the month can't decide
whether to preserve summer
or start on fall.
You left us
between the seasons.
Some part of me stays
in that between
when you were going,
wanting you to sleep,
to stay
between the worlds.
For me
you are here still
in the early New Year,
sleeping in the summer-fall,
new season
to bring the year
when it's too early
and the leaves stay green
or drop yellow
from no rain.
Do you keep the New Year
from starting
before the leaves
turn?
I keep you and memory
from falling.
Thursday, September 10, 2015
Refuge
Refuge
When the sirens roared
downtown
and I boarded a MetroNorth
train
and it carried us away
from the smoke and chaos,
it let me off at 3rd and Fordham,
where I took a bus.
As I stepped off
near Stilwell
and I breathed
the deepest breath
I had ever breathed
in my life,
I thanked the trees
for safety
and the smell
of home.
Tuesday, September 8, 2015
Egg Cream: The Movie
Egg Cream: The Movie
Seltzer. Chocolate syrup.
Milk.
No eggs. No cream.
Sweet and fizzy
with salt aftertaste.
Like life.
Like sex.
Chocolate drink:
The beginning.
1920's primordial.
Evolving.
Like knowledge.
Sunday, September 6, 2015
Almost
Almost
Remember
when you and I
and Eduardo
walked around
the neighborhood
singing "Reggae Music"
and dancing
and swinging our hips
and we wore sleeveless
tank tops
and Eduardo wore
shorts and a T shirt
in the warm but not
too hot summer
wafting all around
the Parkway
like a good nose-filling
smell
composed of bagels, pizza
and almost ice cream
Wednesday, September 2, 2015
Yortsayt II: Dialogue with my Mom
Yortsayt II:
Dialogue with my Mom
"Wear the brown dress
with the trim."
"But it exposes
my chest too much."
"So what? They won't
see your bust."
"But it's sort of
fancy for Yom Kippur."
"People wear all sorts
of things
at those programs.
This looks so nice
on you."
"But Ma, I thought
I should wear something
more dignified."
"Dignified? It is
plenty dignified.
Besides, you're reading
the part I read
for years."
"So you want me
to represent you
in this elaborate
dress?"
"For once in
your life, you'll
be fashionable.
Is that so terrible?"
"Yes, but if you think
I should, I will.
After all, I'm reading
what you read
and following
in your steps."
"Fine."
"Thanks for your help."
"You are welcome."
Yortsayt (Year's Time - Year's Remembrance): From Sadness to Knowing
Yortsayt (Year's Time - Year's Remembrance):
From Sadness to Knowing
I. The Ache
Last year at this time
I sat, looking at you
as you slept
your last sleep.
I told the hospice nurse
that I wished I could
keep you
as you slept
for a few more days.
She said it would
be cruel.
II. The Journey
In this year
I have lived
your various lives
as I thought
and channeled you -
singer, daughter, mom.
I never did bring you
grandchildren.
III. The Seeing
The Yortsayt candle
burns in the dining room.
In its neat, small flame
I see you dancing
on the apartment roof
and I see you playing
the piano
at meetings,
smiling your gracious
charm
across the room.
IV. The Seeing - 2
I see you in bed
as you left,
and I feel you
in and around me
as you travel.
I give my own secular
prayer
to the candle,
in Yiddish,
the language women used
when they were forbidden
from Hebrew:
"Eybiker ru, ober alemol
mit undz."
"Eternal rest,
but always with us."
You are still with me.
This the candle tells.
With me, in me.
V. The Knowing
At Yom Kippur,
the Day of Atonement,
I will apologize
for my mistakes
ask your forgiveness
and wear the brown dress
with autumn trim
that you insist on,
even now.
You always have excellent taste
in clothes.
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