The Morning After

I woke up today wishing yesterday was just a dream. Hoping it hadn't happened, but sadly, it was real. I can't quite wrap my mind around a universe in which one day a soul can exist in this world and 24 hours later can be gone forever. It just makes no sense. None of this does. It doesn't make sense how a presence once felt only in any one given place in a house can be missed in every possible place simultaneously once it's gone. How does that happen? How do we as people have the power and ability to decide when an animal is ready to go? How does a perfectly healthy albeit elderly dog go from running around and jumping for treats to multiple organ failure in a matter of days, hours? How does a world exist the next day exactly the same way as it was? I now understand the need for the movie "All Dogs Go to Heaven" and believe that it certainly must be true. Where else could such a small extinguished spirit go?

I have a new appreciation for all those pet lovers out there who go so far as to put their pets on greeting cards and Santa's lap. I've been wondering about them a lot this year for some reason, but now I think I understand. When a person passes away, it's easy for other people to relate. Most people have lost someone, and it's easy to see all that a person brought into this world and everyone they have touched. With pets, it's different. The "only" contribution most pets can hope to make is to love their people unconditionally. Others may occasionally be entertained by them, but it is only their people who truly feel their absence when they're gone. And those of us that do, feel that absence everywhere. I don't really expect anyone else to understand, but it does make me feel that much more alone.

More of Israel and Heartache

I wrote this in Israel, although I can't remember when: "Writing poetry in Israel is like learning to speak Hebrew. Eventually there is SO much to say that it all comes pouring out, and it stops mattering how broken and nonsensical it may be."

Maybe If We Had

I don’t remember when your hair line began to recede
But I know how you taste first thing in the morning
And of course it’s silly to miss you
Clutching to the line once whispered in my ear
“I forgot how much I love coming home to you”

I’m not right for you
And you’re not the one for me
But the time when our bodies fit together
Has a way of making me ache on rainy days


Untitled

I miss being your friend
But I do not miss our friendship
And I don’t understand
I write poems which only I can decipher
I hide behind riddles
Cloak myself in metaphors
But they’re all about you
And the bittersweet decline of letting go


Negev

I would climb a mountain for you
I would cross a desert
I would wait for you in silence
Wrapped in thoughts of pleasure
I would study secretly
Your faults and imperfections
For the day you come to me
With water on your lips


Untitled

Be my muse
And I will struggle
With this pit in my stomach
Be my muse
I like the confusion
Let’s be honest (for once)
Be my muse
I want to pretend some more
I could deal without the heartache
But be my muse
And help me unlock all the other heartbreak never put into words
You no longer amuse me
But please please- be my muse


ESTAS

You can have your little bonding activities over your boo boos and scratches
You don’t really want to hear about this
You don’t want to know
Who wants to hear about the girl who chose this for herself?
It’s a bummer- there’s nothing cute here
Who made up that activity anyway?
Did they really want to talk about scars?
REAL scars?
Painful, scary, shameful scars which are not simply skin deep
Three pounds of metal makes for heavy conversation


It’s Good to Feel

Hello Lonely
Where ya been?
Hidin’ neath the stones?
Behind the arches?
Stayed away so long this time
I almost forgot you
But you sit down next to me
Unassuming as you are
Crawl into my shoes, between my toes
And I’m cold again
But I’ve got a place to be
I must be on my way
You can stay here if you like
All I ask is
Please don’t follow me


Excavation

The flood gates have opened
The winter rains begun
And I find with delight
That the gift is still there
As the words come pouring out onto the page
Pushed up through layers of dust
By sudden inspiration, a psychic spring
Like Jerusalem’s excavation sites
Which layer’s the last?
How deep do they go?
Will digging up one disrupt the one below?


Not You

It’s not you
Not you, not you
Who I love
At least I can convince myself
But you’re there, always there
A fact my mind can’t get around
And I always push it
I force things too fast
I want SOMETHING to happen
But I want it to last
And it’s not you
Not you, not you
Who I love

So don’t watch me like that
Don’t anticipate my touch
Look away when I’m staring
You could at least do that much
But you stare and you linger
You concede far too much
And it’s not you, not you
Who I’ll love

You don’t see the pretty
Your guard’s never down
You’re too busy explaining
To keep touch to the ground
You don’t dance to the rhythm
You force your hold on the beat
And it’s not you
Not you, not you
Who I’ll love

Even now it’s dangerous for me
To be writing this down
To put my heart on paper
Without a disguise
Yet why should I worry?
When it’s not you, not you
Not you who I’ll love?


Unanswered Questions

Can you fake electricity?
Can you stage a flying spark?
Can you pretend sincerity?
Because if you can
Please at least have the decency
To finish what you start


Turkish Sammy

I don’t need to be “repaired”
While on vacation
I don’t need to be “repaired”
At any time
You are not the first man to come along
Promising to “fix” me
But I will not make that mistake this time
I am the only one to mend me
And I am here only to be restored


From Akko to Qiryat Gat

You can’t recreate the past
She says
You can’t bring it back
Two thousand years
And we reclaimed the land
Gave breath to a dying language
She explains
Where will it end?

But I stand here
Look out over sleepy faces
Mere children
Plucked from the beds of their mothers
Scabs and the boots of soldiers
Where scratches from riding bikes used to be

And I don’t want to sit
I want to stand with them
I want to stand for my love, my nation
I will never know what it’s like to bleed for it
To give a child for its survival
I want to pretend giving up a seat
I am doing SOMETHING

Could I do what they do?
Were I in their boots
How could I not?
And while they’re at work defending “our” country
Our people, our way of life
Is it enough that I repair the world
From the safety of my other home?
Does what I do save mountains, the deserts, and streams?
Trees, birds, flowers, and faces?

Are we fighting terror or fate?
She asks
Are we?

But look at these kids- they’re babies
Boys who have just started shaving
Girls still discovering themselves
All playing at the deadliest game
Waging their lives
Sacrificed by parents
Willing to give their souls

Is there any other way?
Nations put down your swords!!!
It’s time for pruning hooks and plow shares
If only silent screams were enough

So I stand and look out over them
Thanking and blessing each one
“For our souls which are in your keeping”
Because You, Hashem, have promised
Ayeh asher ayeh

For Mnunu

Because my words are all I've ever had to give you... and because you loved them all

Motek

There were days when I would marvel
At this person in my room
Like where’d she come from?
Who the heck is she?
And other thoughts would fill my head

There were nights we stayed up talking
In the dark, the truth is spoken
How’s your life been?
Is it similar to mine?
All the answers came in time

Candid, blunt, and always laughing
We were perfectly attune
Sharing meals and showers is easy
When you give what’s in your heart

It’s so strange now
It hardly happened
We had only just begun
So the poetry switched topics
But the journey carries on

There were days when I would marvel
At this person in my room
There were days I wondered
What did I do to deserve you?

You were who I needed
And were willing to reach deep
Who knows what might have happened
If we ever simply gave in to sleep


The Candle

I want to give you so many gifts
To take with you for the long road home
But nothing packs so well
And I wouldn’t want to weigh you down
You say to me- I don’t have anything
Perhaps it is because you have already given me so much


When

The hardest thing is to choose a voice
Who best to speak of friendship?
When random comments lead to laughs
And toothpaste drooling down your chin
When what we always do
Is habit- and goodbye
When I don’t know how to thank you
And I feel the wall of tears invade my eyes
But there’s also the most important when
When will I see you again?


Maid to Order

She stood- waiting
Too much make up and a shiny green dress
Leaning on a car dressed in bows
Her hips conveying discontent
Cigarette at her lips
Daring passersby to take a picture
Waiting for the bride
Waiting for someone else’s hour
Indignant and annoyed
We are all tired of waiting
And in that moment
I knew exactly how she felt


Last Night’s Lines

Words are fickle friends
They come to me late
Looking for a one night stand
And are almost always gone by daybreak

I tell myself I’ll remember
Their names in the morning
But I rarely do

They come demanding to be written
Demanding to be heard
But sleep is also pressing

They only come when I’m alone
In fairness, they do not wish to disturb my slumber
It’s just that timing’s everything


Stahm

Somewhere between Jack Johnson and Ben Gurion’s dream
For a second I wonder
In panicked realization
How are there only three days left?!

Then I ease into memory
There has been SO much
So many early mornings
Glowing sunsets and late nights out
Learning, traveling, growing, and writing

So now words spew
Come flowing forth
And I am SO alive
Yeah, I talk a lot
But there’s mamash to say!

Happy to Be Holding Your Breath

This thought popped into my head tonight as I eased off of the bus and headed towards home after a 12 hour work day. I love the yoga class I've been going to for most of the fall, and the teacher is phenomenal. We do a breathing exercise which he claims will make our eyes shiny and our skin glow as though we are well rested from a vacation. At one point in the excercise, we hold our breath for about a 15 count and sometimes longer. Shankar always reminds us, "Focus your attention between your 'eye-bros.' Be happy to be here practicing yoga. Happy to be holding your breath longer and longer." And I realize, I AM happy to be holding my breath longer and longer.

I keep taking these giant leaps of faith into my future one year at a time. So far, they've worked out quite nicely. I am grateful to have a breath to hold as it were, and I do feel intensely alive and connected to the people and stories around me. I know I am making a difference and having spiritually fulfilling and meaningful work is beyond measure.

Needless to say, work has been going really well. Communal living on the other hand, not so much. I know we are going to cycle through various stages as a group, but right now, it's all I can do not to run for the hills sometimes. There are still a number of positive benefits, but then I also realized tonight I am in fact living the worst case scenario role play from my interview wherein one roommate does not clean the bathroom for weeks on end. Ewwww. My gut reaction is to not do my chore until conditions improve, but of course, that's not the answer. I am also in my head trying to perfect how to say to someone's face "Please stop being an ass" or "You're being an ass right now" in my "please-pass-the-butter" voice. I'll keep you posted.

And then there's Allie's making aaliyah which has been on my mind for weeks. I'm thrilled for her and simultaneously heartbroken that she's returning without me. Last weekend, I followed a friend's recommendation and found some of the best falafel this side of the Western Wall. It was so close to what I've had in Jerusalem, it seriously brought nostalgic tears to my eyes. I feel as though I am forever homesick- here and there. To further pull on heart strings, I looked up from my booth and realized I was sitting under a painting of the Old City. All the other paintings around Max's are of flowers and abstract art! The pita was so fluffy and chewy that it reminded me of the corner grocery in Arad which sold similar pita. The pita that was our staple with everything from chocolate spread to eggplant dip to hummus. Always with the hummus. Food can truly transport a person! Although I will say the kosher grocery next door though carrying several Israeli brands seems to have its seasons confused. Their bakery is serving hamentashen and not a single sufganyot to be found in the place! Has it really been a year?!!

I am happy to be holding my breath. Not letting my nostrils search for traces of powdered sugar and sweet grease. Still I wonder- what is the danger in loving two places at once?

A Poem

Yakov

There's a grave somewhere
With a sun bleached white shell
Waiting
Waiting for my return
To bring you news of my trip
Of places you have also been

But seashells and rocks are all that I can leave you
When I go
And everyone who sees them
May not know that it was me
But seashells are not native to the cemetery
And I'm an equal stranger

I miss you
And it's still hard to imagine
That you're never coming back
To tell me all about the rocks I leave
Such tragic irony