Judith Sanders: A Mourner’s Kaddish
We must have forgotten thee,
o Jerusalem,
because our tongues cleave
to the roofs of our mouths
and our right hands
have lost their cunning.
October 27, 2020 · Leave a comment
Judith Sanders: Autumn Walk at Beechwood Farms
You said, Name the world.
So I said, I call this a spangle tree.
How about, you said, a rose-hued spangle tree.
That’s beautiful, I said.
Let’s name the world together.
October 7, 2020 · 7 Comments
Judith Sanders: Late to Meet You at the Indian Restaurant
So I drove, and listened to the news, about
the demise of democracy and collapse of civilization
head-beams probing the dark like outstretched hands.
February 12, 2020 · 5 Comments
Judith Sanders: The Farewell
“Picture a staircase,”
the hypnotist said.
“At the top, a door
will open
onto a landscape.”
January 31, 2020 · Leave a comment
