-
Taking Temporary Refuge in Sextus Empiricus (Poem)
Wearied by these discussions of things I cannot affect
Storms darken the skies over mountains coasts plains deserts
Bombs fall upon the helpless here and here and here
Parties await the change of the year in metropolei cities towns villages
Babies get born die people get sick die some recover all eventually die
All sometimes just too much and I want to say stop of course nothing stops
My primeval self-concept urges flight back to measured tranquility
Suspension of belief wants immersion again in Skeptical therapeutics
Indeed this provides a temporary respite but only that
Now a different path engages me
With this world other worlds the endless arguments that give them form.
-
The Chance To Sit Down (Poem)
Because I’ve known hunger
Been among those who go to eat among strangers
Taking whatever food was offered and the chance to sit down
Because I’ve known hunger
Been among those who walk the streets in thrift-store coats
Wishing desperately for a cup of hot coffee and the chance to sit down
Because I’ve known hunger
Been among those who get blamed for this and all our other lacks
Wanting to tell our stories and the chance to sit down
An empty belly gnaws at your hope in the future.
The hard trudge through wintry streets lacerates your ability to breathe here and now.
The dirty shame impoverishes your cling to self-worth.
What price do you pay, and it’s harder than ever.
I’d put benches everywhere. For a start.
-
The Lladro Bar Mitzvah Boy (Poem)
For years I had a Lladro Bar Mitzvah Boy porcelain,
Elongated, in gorgeous muted blue and cream.
With each move I would wrap it carefully in newspaper and cloth
And place it gently in its own separate box.
Aside from its beauty that soothed my heart,
It represented something might have been,
Were I born to an earlier generation and a boy.
Perhaps I would have worn a somber threadbare suit and yarmulke,
A thin yeshiva bochur, always with my nose in a book.
After one difficult transition I opened the box
To find that it had finally cracked into several pieces,
Too delicate to bear so many travels.
Sometimes on a rainy winter’s day, I remember my Lladro
And can almost hear the murmured thrum within the beit midrash
As I study with others in the fading December light.
