Sunday, March 10, 2013

A Memoir of Bewilderment





You’re making a mountain out of a molehill, she said.
But it was the mountain, birthed from fog and thunder
which held me captive, then bent me under.
Right there in front of us,   (we cannot see it until we see it)
  a hard stop on the road, a strange confounding caress.
How did we end up here surrounded by this mess?

I ask her to speak to me in Hebrew,
wanting only to hear words I do not understand.
I love you exactly as I can.

Sunday, November 4, 2012

Day 301: Listen

Your answer is the thing you see in the mirror,
the animal under your feet in the morning.
Listen to the flower breathe.
It is quiet, but it is still growing.



Saturday, July 21, 2012

366 Days: I was born yellow


I was born yellow.
Like the bones of a dinosaur
dug up and studied
piece by piece.
Here you can see: 
he was an herbivore
he ran slower than the others
he probably swam
he smells like ancient smoke and dust
he was a coward.
I honor this mustard-colored fossil 
each year on my birthday
commiserate his fate
knowing my life will end in a blaze of sun also.
And that I am a coward, too.