The Poet

Forgiveness is the window

–

Beyond the glass

is turquoise ocean

and a golden sun

resting on the water

–

Four apologies

and the curtains remain closed

It is nearly dawn

and the Titanic has sunk

and Rose lies in

the rescue boat

with a loneliness she has

never before encountered

I

And I will tell you,

I remember when my

only goal was to

become fluent in Hebrew and Arabic-

or to learn

and to speak

II

It takes me many years,

and in living them,

I become the languages

I become in their shadow

III

This is prose

This is poetry

Most of all,

this is a love letter

For all my

lovely goodbyes

This body overflows

and becomes honey

from candy milk

And these losses

will lose their loveliness

my heart will grow 

weaker with our final words

So I will drink candy milk 

wherever I go

to fill myself up again with life

I must keep my

softness

-of melting ice

My creator and I

are great friends

I resemble

and I become like them

I chase you

yet you are my shadow

and to keep running backwards

is the opposite of becoming

The taste of freedom

is of the grapevine

You drink 

You drink

and you never find

The first time you told me you were proud of me, I didn’t believe you. I asked for a reason. I asked “why?” 

You told me you’re proud of me just because. That my very existence is enough. 

For you’ve pressed your hope into my body since before I knew what hope could do. 

From the grace of your lips into my mind. You hoped for me. For my brother and my sisters that we would carry ourselves with the love that you carry for us. 

And every time the gray of your eyes set into mine. I’m reminded of who you see me to be. 

To receive is with full obligation

yet I forgot you

and your creations

It is not a question of

where does love go?

Instead,

where does love come from?

It is all for Hashem

For what my great-great grandfather

asked me,

I ponder,

I become him

without knowing him.

In the Negev

as the sun I can nearly touch

with my hands

casts gold upon the sand

and upon the windows,

I find my love for the Negev

is the same as his.

I saw the same beauty

in the drawing he

made for me

before he knew

who I would be.

Winter is here to remind us of

the beauty of summer

and summer will come to remind us of

the beauty of winter

If death came

to me,

its eyes would speak

of its intentions.

It would beckon

with its perfect limestone fingers,

and I would leave content.

Green approaches light

at the opening of dawn

I am reminded of the jungle

where Eve first walked

The whisper of summer

returns

and longing grows

A silent act

is without noise

it is doing

first

My hiding place

is the room behind your room

where I watch you

and grimace

for we are no different

I am

your love

and your surprise

for wonder is not in

being without

What is kept most sacred? Preservation of self. I yearn for this, yet, at times, I am my enemy.

You are my beloved teacher

for you center yourself

in forgiveness,

and your love

grants serenity beyond my

fear of noise