Elul Day Thirteen: Remember

There are times
I am caught by memory,
like a blanket.
warmed and wrapped
and sinking,
so that I long to stay
in its embrace.

There are times
memory catches at me,
at the sharp edges
and rusty corners.
It is not a liquid moment,
not fluid, or surging
in a noisy back and forth
and in and out
like the sea,
but ragged,
often drawing
blood.

There are times
I have no memory,
no remembrance
at all - there is
not a blank wall
upon which to draw
lines that dip and dance
and pirouette
as my fancy and
logic dictate,
but an absence,
a nothingness of
silence and cold
that swallows
light
and pain
and joy.

Or so I think,
I think.
So I believe,
I hope, that
perhaps the Gates
stand guard over all
that absence
that guards my pain,
my light
and joy.

Perhaps I need only
to step through.


#blogelul

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.

#BlogElul 14 - Remember (A Partially Obstructed View)

I have lost the sharp edges of you.
Even my longing
is softer -
Soft enough to bear
without buckling under
its weight.

I miss the sharpness
and the hurt of it,
When I could feel
the missingness of
you.

Now I only have
a partially obstructed view--
an old photo
in black and white,
It sits on my dresser,
leaning against the wall
in front of it a vase
bought in my Blue Period.
The vase holds loose change,
not flowers.
It should hold flowers.
And you should not have died,
So there is an odd
symmetry there,
if only because I want
the easy gracefulness of that.

Now you are shadowed
and shaded,
and no amount of strain
or neck-craning
will give me full view
of that static,
achingly young,
towel-wrapped ,
smiling
boy.

I swear
You were never that still,
and your life never
black and white.
There should be no softness
in my memory.
The edges should be sharp -
sharp enough to cut,
even through
this partially obstructed view.


(c) Stacey Zisook Robinson
2014