All that glass
shattered one long ago November night,
can never ever be swept away.
Splinters are pushing into the light of day,
still sharp on all sides.
When sunshine hits these broken pieces,
millions of yahrzeit lights illumine the loss,
while fragments of the rainbow flicker with hope
and the promise of Tikkun Olam.

*Gertrud Lind died on June 15, 2015.
Her poem was published in The Jewish Pluralist last year.
Gertrud’s life was marked by courage, self-determination, and social commitment.
She is always in our hearts.  May Her Memory Be Of Blessing read more

I came to America with black and white and yellow photographs
rolled in oriental rugs.
Between the pages of the Exodus and inside the Haggadah
I saved the journey of my wandering ancestors.
They were refugees who crossed borders,
holding precious children and whispering hope.

In America I keep asking my ancestors,
“How did you survive when they expelled you from Spain?”
“Tell me how you escaped from Portugal?”
“Where was the shelter for religious tolerance in Amsterdam?”
“Is it still there next to the house of Anne Frank?”
“Did you write down the names of the Christian families
who saved our little cousins in the Holocaust?” read more

A special person
Who made life more worth living

Your words were your thoughts
That lightened our pages

So lucky were we to know
Your generous and lifeful glow

Because you loved life
And we love you

Goodbye, and not
Goodbye

We will mourn for you
By living life all the more

*This poem replaces a former version that had some technical problems

Jacob’s angels had direction
they went up, they went down
they were disciplined
they walked the ladder

Mine are irrational
Caught on my pear tree there
glittering in the breeze
they toy with the willful sun
the errant leaf

Some say Jacob’s angels
mirrored his irresolute soul
up/down
yes/no

Tell me, you who strung
those mirrors on my tree
did you intend a metaphor
of me?

Life, the rabbi said, is the shadow
of a bird in flight. The bird flies away,
the bird is gone, the shadow is gone.

Mother, wings spread, you wait,
the greeting grown stale upon your lips.
Death does not oblige.
There’s nothing left of me, you wail,
it’s all gone, I’m nothing.
No, I say, surprising both of us,
it’s all here, in me.

At once your whole life’s energy
informs my blood, that woman bond.
How much I bear of you who bore me,
standing in the shadow of your flight,
imprinted with your bright trajectory. read more

The Palm Tree

FIfty years later they found him
murdered, old soldier-spy–
Bedouins pointed out the “Jew’s grave”
under a tall palm, his skeleton
entwined with its roots, sprung
from the dates in his pocket.

I always thought
I’d meet world’s end
with a song from a high branch.

Oh Lord, let my heart take root,
let my bones arch upward,
let small birds sing in me.

Ths obligation was fulfilled with soup.
No mother’s plaint of unrequited care
survived a fiery penitential brew.
I heard my mother’s voice splinter like bones
against her mother’s aged plucking needs,
but there was soup and there was
the Fifth Commandment.

Now disappointed mothers wait for signs
while daughters dream recurrently of symbols.
Guilt is out of fashion, soup is out of cans,
and nothing else theyknow to do
implies those long and thoughtful hours of tending.

Women get on no worse now than before,
but that they lack the totem of the pot
to charm some warmth between them. read more

“Come and curse this nation for me” (Balak, Num. 22:6)
“Since God has blessed them, I cannot reverse it.” (Balak, Num. 23:20)

How can I tell you what came over me?
Not that the beast found her voice–
any simple sorcerer can pull that trick–
but that I, the most articulate of men,
lost mine. It was as if a spell seized me;
my mind was perfectly clear, I knew
exactly my mission and, being practical,
I always find for the one who pays my rent.
It was my own mouth betrayed me.

No surprise, then, that I missed the messenger
on the road. There was no messenger.
Not then. Not for me. My thoughts were fixed
on the perfect phrase, the lethal message.
He’s smart, that Jewish God, he’s hard
to get around. But I’ve matched wits with gods
from everywhere in the neighborhood
and bested them. Not Him. Not then, not now. read more

I want to live one day longer than Dad,
she said, so I can take care of him.

When he died, she apportioned their treasures
among us. Don’t weep for me, she said,
I’m ready to go.

Her heart believed her, clenching repeatedly.
I was hoping that was the one,
she sighed, after each seizure.

But when her grandmother’s candlesticks
appeared prematurely in the house
of the designated heir,
she was not pleased.

And when a scientific study related
the consumption of coffee
to diseases of the heart,
I think I’ll drink tea from now on, she said. read more

The baby is wailing, howling at the moon,
startling the stars with her grief.
The toddler pushes a book at me, and
the four-year-old doesn’t like the way his sandwich is cut.
I have failed miserably.
What of the glories of motherhood?

My mother laughs, kisses me, kisses them.
says, This is life.
messy, difficult – and beautiful.
Love them, teach them to be kind.
It will get better, it’s just a matter of time.

I go grocery shopping.
Marc throws his glasses – why not?
He doesn’t have words to express how he feels.
He is scared, he wants to go home.
I apologize to the other shoppers, to the clerk, to myself, for my failures as a parent. read more