Hallway to Nowhere

Category: poems

  • Kitchen Table Stories (Shattered Vessels Poems)

    Her childhood:

    Her family hiding from the Russian soldiers burning their home.

    Her father carrying her on the streets after Ellis Island.

    NO JEWS ALLOWED.

    His grandfather:

    Three young brothers newly arrived and starving off a boat from Ireland.

    He asked a man if he could work on the docks.

    NO IRISH WANTED.

    Their life:

    Their parents’ flight because their marriage was a crime.

    They themselves fearing to return.

    NO NEGROES HERE.

    Recently me:

    A bus driver told me I should be deported.

    My kind isn’t wanted here.

    GOD HATES QUEERS.

    The vessels crack and crack and shatter.

  • Shattered Vessels (Poet’s Revision)

    Once broken glass glittered on pavement

    In the cold November night within shuttered quarters.

    Now metal fragments litter the ground

    In the wastelands that housed villages.

    What do we do when rage and fear

    Make us forget what we sought to build?

    When we close our ears to the wail of grief

    That sounds the same torn from any throat?

    When we break under the weight of repairing the world,

    Who will hold us?

  • If This One Does Not Please (Poem)

    Shattered vessels.

    Once broken glass glittered on pavement

    In the cold November night outside shops and homes.

    Now metal fragments litter the ground

    In the wastelands that housed villages.

    What do we do when rage and fear

    Make us forget what we sought to build?

    When we close our ears to the wail of grief

    That sounds the same from any throat?

    When we break under the weight of repairing the world,

    Who will hold us?

    Worlds have been destroyed before.

  • Friday Remembered (Poem)

    That time with you, that long ago time.

    How much do I remember, how much did I dream?

    The dough sticks to my hands,

    Flour dusting the table, as I prepare challah.

    The kitchen becomes warm and fragrant,

    The aromas of saffron and honey welcoming you home.

    When we leave for temple, we link our bare hands,

    Disregarding the drifting snow and occasional disapproving stares.

    Courteously, you open the heavy wooden door for me to enter

    And then we part, you to the men’s side, me to the women’s.

    Afterwards over the communal kiddush and hamotzi,

    You catch my eye and smile.

    I know you’re thinking of a sleepy morning,

    Warmed against the early chill by samovar tea,

    Bread with butter, and me in your arms.

  • Beneath My Skin (Poem)

    Beneath my skin, these

    Earliest shadows

    Decay dripping from ancient trees

    Murk surfacing hidden bayous

    Roil foretelling terrible storms

    Bruises left indelible

    Look away

    Do not talk of such things

    I was afraid

    Words leave marks worse than fists

    Icy stares make you bleed

    New shadows differently hued

    Stench fouling beach sands

    Molder crumbling leather-bound books

    Rapine cutting through pine forests

    Invisible stains just as before

    Look away

    Do not talk of such things

    I was afraid

    Fists leave marks almost like words

    Other people’s bodies make you bleed

    Swallow your voice

    Choke on grief

    Cover your indigo body

    One day when I speak

    My power will shatter the world

  • A Change In The Air (Poem)

    The sun hesitates in the morning,

    Granting the darker hours ascendancy

    And paying obeisance to the moon.

    The birds have packed away their frolicking trills,

    Relinquishing the song field to the mournful cries

    Of the winter geese.

    The long rumble of the train becomes more a part of the natural world,

    No longer rudely breaking into the gaudy landscape

    Of baseball games, outdoor markets, and marathons.

    I help wooly worms cross the trail,

    Lest they be crushed by unwitting travelers.

    Seasons still change in the mountains.

    Fall has arrived.

  • Gifts From My Mother (Poem)

    Never these:

    The antique brush that did not touch your hair

    But always sat before your mirror.

    The silver bracelet from your favorite aunt

    That you wore to enhance your forbidding elegance.

    The Mont Blanc pen you prized as a understated symbol

    But found my question of “does it write well,” vulgar .

    The gifts you bestowed cannot be touched

    And are beyond compare:

    A mind made razor-sharp

    Honed against the whetstone of your obdurate distance.

    A heart with hidden chambers

    Filled to overflowing with a magpie’s assortment of kindnesses.

    A language in which words become more beautiful

    By the flow and tumble over your stony disregard.

    So I thank you again and again.

    The love I bear you remains my greatest burden, my greatest treasure.

  • Bitter Disappointment (Poem)

    My mother took me to a tea room.

    She promised a special treat.

    What kind of tea would it be?

    Some tea brought from China, pressed into a cake,

    Aged so that it was even older than I?

    Some tea from Japan, fine-leafed and green,

    Served in a cup more delicate than my dreams?

    We entered into ordinary room that tried to make itself special

    With cloying incense and scarf-draped lamps.

    No other customers, for she had reserved the entirety of the hour.

    The server poured us tea,

    From a commonplace pot into commonplace cups.

    She told us that we were to swirl it once

    Then pour it out quickly into a bowl on the table.

    A woman came and read our fortunes aloud,

    Speaking with a fake Creole accent,

    And made us each a taped recording.

    I carried mine for years.

    The taste of the tea I never drank lingers on my tongue.

  • A Glimpse Of A Rainbow (Poem)

    We threw our glittering hopes into the sky,

    Knowing that the hidden sun would catch them

    To paint the clouds with vibrant rays.

    We spread our darkest fears across the blue surround

    Knowing that the mountains would keep them

    To drape the ridges with mournful smoke.

    Some removed masks that covered their faces.

    Some donned masks to become who they were.

    Everyone could be seen.

    Soon we return to our different lands.

    Most will live in some sort of shadow,

    Careful of how to appear.

    In our unguarded moments we look at the sky,

    Yearning to glimpse a rainbow.

  • A Conversation With Depression (Poem)

    I held my darkness with tender care,

    Warmed it in the cradle of my heart,

    Gazed at it with kind regard.

    What do you want of me?

    Would anything I can do,

    Anything I can ask of others,

    Ease your suffering?

    I do not ask you to leave,

    Heap no blame upon you,

    Force no unasked change.

    You are the most faithful guest.

    What will make you happy?