Counting Infinity - a poem in honor of International Holocaust Remembrance Day

I wonder about the
infinity of light
that shattered
in a single Breath -
and the dust of Adam
that scattered, a
sweeping whirlwind of
limitless everywhere upon
the earth, and the stars
that Abraham counted -
numberless,
and distant,
and cold fire.

We counted
time by moonlight
and threads of
blue -
Exquisitely finite
and eternal,
a holy cadence
of one
plus one
plus one again
a never-ending measure
of binding and grace.

So I wonder,
with all the counting
of all the endlessness
of stars and dust
and light
and time
and one
plus one
plus One -

what happens when
six million -
when twelve million -
when a thousand -
when a single one
disappears from
infinity

God of the Desert

We walked in the shadow time,

in the sun's reflected light.

The sun is like God in the desert,

We cannot look upon its face and live,

not while we walk,

not while we flee

not while we search for home.

We are the shadow people.

Mama carries my brother on her back,

I carry water. We both carry life.

Water is like God in the desert,

Hidden and precious

and a trickster illusionist,

a mirage that shimmers.

Still, it makes the desert bloom

I am thirsty, but I do not drink.

My stomach is tight, unfilled,

but I am used to this gnawing hunger.

Food is like God in the desert,

A gift to be gathered,

just enough and no more.

Too much will spoil.

Too much might kill you.

We have learned to live with hunger.

We reached the gates

in the almost light of dawn

Mama lifts my brother down,

and I see her shadowed face -

Careworn lines, desperate worry,

and bruise-smudged eyes of infinite compassion.

She is like God in the desert,

Abandoned. Exiled.

Deserted, with

forgiveness on her tongue.

Forgiveness is a balm in the wilderness.

The gates spark with the rising sun.
Hard iron delicately filigreed.

I imagine our footsteps are
a trail of sand and tears,

leading us home. 

Gates are like God in the desert,

welcoming strangers.

Opening. Closing.

Offering redemption to all who seek it.

I am a stranger everywhere we go.

We walk on cracked earth, 

forward on swollen feet,

to the gate of Heaven

while my mother cries out,

her arms suddenly empty and bare,

but the God of the desert

has already forgotten.

The Slow Falling of a Tree

There is an ancient riddle
involving a tree
and a forest
and perhaps a sound.

I wasn't there
so I didn't hear,
but I think
I found the answer
in the clapping of one hand.

What is the riddle, then
of barbed wire
and flames
and a growing silence?

The answer may be found
in numbers etched
into soft flesh;
in acrid smoke
rising to heaven;
and the slow falling
of a tree.

And if the tree were chopped,
If the hand were bound
If the silence grew,
minute by minute by hour by day
by heart and soul
until it covered the land,

Would it matter,
do you think?
I wasn't there
I didn't hear.
Perhaps it never happened
after all.

Rise - a poem to commemorate the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising

There is so much sky!
Funny, but i never knew.
It's beautiful,
and many hued;
perhaps this is what Jacob knew
when he ordered that coat,
the one of many colors,
the one that tore apart
his sons, made them think
of murder,
of slavery,
and lies.

Joseph said, "It's ok.
God put me here,
so that I might serve
and forgive.

Did God put me here
in this crush of
people and hunger
and never enough?
What do I serve?
Whom shall I forgive
in this fetid, unrecognizable
 place that once was home?

Is there a plan for me
to raise me up?
To raise us all?
To let us rise?

There is so much sky
in which God can hide.
but I think God is here,
in the crush
and the dirt -
and God is urging us
to rise.


Written for the United Jewish Community of the Virginia Peninsula

Counting Infinity

I wonder about the
infinity of light
that shattered
in a single Breath -
and the dust of Adam
that scattered, a
sweeping whirlwind of
limitless everywhere upon
the earth, and the stars
that Abraham counted -
numberless,
and distant,
and cold fire.

We counted
time by moonlight
and threads of
blue -
Exquisitely finite
and eternal,
a holy cadence
of one
plus one
plus one again
a never-ending measure
of binding
and grace.

So I wonder,
with all the counting
of all the endlessness
of stars and dust
and light
and time
and one
plus one
plus One -

what happens when
six million -
when twelve million -
when a thousand -
when a single
one
disappears
from infinity

I Remember

I remember the absence of sound,

Deeper than silence

And more lonely,

Like the moment just

Before creation,

all stretched and

attenuated, waiting,

except there was no time

to measure 

eternity,

so waiting was

Now.

I wait for God to

say my name,

so that I will come to be.

So that I will 

once again remember

the scent of blue 

and the feel of sand 

between my toes,

and how my hand fit 

against the gentle curve of 

your face.

I will once again remember 

all that was taken.

And so I wait,

in this absence of sound,

I wait for God

to remember

my name.

Night of Fire and Glass

Words for Kristalnacht

09-10 November 1938

Stars littered the ground

Crystal fire

Shards of ice

Glass

The smoke of a thousand thousand years

Ascended

Coiling upwards, twisted

With the memory of a People

Chosen once in light

Chosen again

In darkness

In ashes and in blood

Pounding rhythms shout out

Felt through soles 

Driving forward, driving onward

Faster and faster and faster, and pulled forward

Pulled ever onward

In a rush, at a run, rippling in shadow

It invades your blood,

That rhythm,

That pulse,

That pull and push

That wraps ‘round your heart

In pounding and pulsing rhythms

That cradle your source

Your soul

The darkness swallows the cries

Of a thousand thousand lights

A thousand thousand years

A thousand thousand sighs

Of love

Of hope

Of God

Leaving only broken glass

And crystal fire

And glistening stars to lead us

Home.