Timbrels

No time to think of bread, how then timbrels?
We were women believing in wonder,

Crossing the waves, no longer slaves,
Crossing the deep, with joy did we weep,
Crossing the sea, craving ecstasy.

Gave timbrels to shaking, felt earth quaking,
Gave timbrels to ringing, we began singing,
a great and wondrous song.

His Voice

You never call, you never write.
Well yes, you text, but you never call.

He's scared his voice will reveal misery
Decades, it will take decades
to work through all this.

We've all been there, torn asunder
from our souls.

Grandma

We walked among the violet hills,
she'd point to gull, to rock, to stone,
or to a violet sun ablaze,
and then I'd feel not so alone.
And when the trees called out their song,
I'd feel their tender call of glee,
I walked with grandma, my dear pal,
and somewhere, a song sang in me.

Grandma Josie ii

At sunset, we walked, the two of us.
With cane in hand, she'd point to a stone,
I'd dust it and drop it in my bag.

Once, she swore she'd seen a hissing snake
at the mouth of a cave. So scared,
swore she'd run all the way down the hill.
.
It was hard to fathom her running.
I'd seen her mainly in slow motion,
at sink or stove stirring mushroom
barley soup or kasha with noodles.

For a tiny moment, I could
almost imagine her running,
in the next breath, it was
unimaginable again.

My heart ached, how I never
wanted anything to happen to her,
not from a hissing snake,
not God-forbid from anything.

That day, I spilled shiny pebbles,
smooth stones and craggy stones
upon the wooden floor.

With cane in hand,
she'd pointed to each stone,
just for me and for me alone.

Gifts from the Sea

I went down to a turquoise sea,
because I felt so very bleak,
and flapped and spread a turquoise cloth,
and rubbed some oil upon my cheek,
And when green waves were rolling in,
and monstrous waves were rushing loud,
I poured some oil upon my arms
and gazed up at a vagrant cloud.

When I had dipped into the sea,
I tried to shield myself from cold,
but now I felt a rapturous glee,
and now I felt I could be bold.
But jelly fish were hovering near,
they aimed their harsh harpoons at me,
and left me tingling like a bell,
then faded through the violent sea.

Though I was gifted by the sea
with prickly sting and reddened sting,
I will accept this raspy pain,
like gull accepts its ravished wing.
And I will walk along the shore,
and watch waves dance and dance away,
the violet passage of the clouds
the golden passage of the day.

Grandma Josie

I loved to walk with Grandma Josie,
her cheeks as red as any posy.

With cane in hand, she'd point to a stone
that was meant for me, and for me alone.

I'd drop it in my bag with glee,
a sacred treasure, just for me.

Once, swore she'd seen an ugly knave
rearing his head from mouth of cave.

She'd come upon a hissing snake,
Oh, how it made my small heart ache.

Swore she'd run so fast that day,
like a bear in heat, she'd hav'ta say.

Now grandma hobbled and wobbled, no lie -
could never picture her on the fly.

So I wiggled and giggled; then I swore,
infuriating grandma all the more.

Exasperated, she raised up her cane,
said of her existence, I was the bane.

For Ten Different Reasons

"Not something my parents would have done
for ten different reasons,"  he said.

Too messy, you could pick up all kinds of disease,

And so on, and so forth.

Chicks galore, in lime, blue, pink,
chirping under florescent light,
we'd buy them at Woolworths every Easter.

Being Jewish, not a taboo
for my parents, but for his - no way.
Later, our chicks shed their dyed feathers.

Released into the living room, they'd fly
round in gay abandon - one chick, Snowy,
ever perching on my brother's shoulder.

With sticky seeds, feathers, spilled water, things
could get messy.

We grew up wild and wooly, helping my
dad run his business out of the house, but
we were granted freedom,

like buying chicks at Woolworths.

As Frost said of his road,
"And that has made all the difference."

Lillikoi, Oh My Joy

I went down my love to stir
in gardens of spice and myhrr.
Lillkoi, oh my joy,
Guava, my darlin'.

Underneath the banyan tree,
there he slept so peacefully.
Papaya, oohlala,
Guava, my darlin'.

It was in the mornin' mist,
when we first began to kiss.
Banana, nanana
Guava, my darlin'.

Do ya, do ya love me true,
Do ya swear it through and through?
Prickly pear, do I dare?
Guava, my darlin.

Reframing

Joseph drew them close, saying,
"I am Joseph, your brother. Does my father still live?"
His brothers stood stunned, speechless, 

ridden with guilt.


"You may have meant me harm, but God had another plan, 

figuring a way get us down to Egypt, 

before the famine."

That was Joseph spinning 

reframing, knitting

them back together,

If Joseph, thrown into a pit, sold into slavery,

can reframe a story, then anyone can, 

Surely, you and me.

A Strawberry

When Grandpa Morris was a boy,
he'd go off to sun-crazed fields
to seed and plough, and if he saw
a strawberry, ripe and ready,

he'd pick it, cradle it in his hands, 

a gift for his beloved mother. 

At sunset, he'd present the strawberry

for her sweet smile.

Coming to these golden shores,
he'd patch the elbows of his sweaters,
and I'd watch him send dollars back home 

wrapped in sheets of carbon paper to fool the censors.

This, before all turned to ash, 

except for one niece. 

Tales rolling down to me of Grandpa Morris,
That's all you'd need to know,

A strawberry and an elbow patched sweater.

Take Her To Saks

When Blanche Bauman of Beverley Hills strolled
into the room, all heads turned. She crossed her
long legs, and gave the judge her full attention.

There I was at the national Bible contest,
struggling to answer the next question
for the crusty judge, when Blanche strolled in

full of razzle dazzle. Blanche, Mom's second
cousin, visiting New York, figured she'd
swing by, and lend her support.

That day, I didn't win the grand prize,
a trip to Israel, I came in third 

in the U.S. and Canada.

"Jean, why didn't you dress her up? Then
maybe the judges would've noticed her more."
Blanche inquired of my Mom.

In my cotton black suit and white blouse, I felt like

a church mouse scrounging
for a morsel here, a morsel there,

holed up in an attic, studying
away, ever so prim and proper.

Next day, Mom confessed we'd traipsed around
all day and found nothing for my big party.

"Jean, what's the problem? Take her to Saks."

Never saw Blanche after that day, but Blanche,
in her silks and alligator heels, had
advocated for me and opened a certain door.

Fishke The Lame

Fishke, the lame, schlepped coals, lugged water,
guarded clothing in his shtetle bathhouse,
begged for bread if he had to. Behold one day,

he met his hunchback girl, they talked endlessly.
She'd been abandoned as a child, then
abducted by a gang of thieves who beat
her, and set her to begging for them.

His hunchback girl would look at Fishke with
such tenderness that he said to himself,
"Fishke, you are not alone in the world, no
you are not, not anymore."

"She sees you, she sees your pain,
You see her, her pain, as well.
Enough to bring two souls
together and so be glad."