I don’t know what I’d expected–a portal, perhaps,
to magic me elsewhere, but she spoke only of a slight shift
in perception, that which might allow
a tiny purplish wildflower to be a doorway.
Probably my tenth trip to the front window in an hour. I’m looking at the yard, cellphone in hand, getting footage of my neighbor’s German Shepherd. He crosses the street, trots up … Continue reading
My responsibility now is to my children–to all our children–and the world that will remain to them. To rescue as much as we can from that global conflagration, from the catastrophes of famine, and flood, and fire, and conflict, and exodus, and extinctions that await.
I lay a Haggadah by a chair,
Unearth my Seder plate,
place upon it shank bone, egg, parsley,
bitter herbs. My bitter tears.
Side by side, we dig in the withered flowerbed,
the sudden warmth, and once again you say, See
how much the light has shifted. I nod my head
at another changing season, our aching knees.
From our window, grosbeaks
and buntings tangle into flight. The hours count
earlier now, because of the way they are lit.