11 toward the Omer

netzach shebgevurah

How often have I stood at these crossroads, each time different?

10 toward the Omer

tiferet shebgevurah

I take the full trash bags out to the porch
where they will sit until tomorrow morning’s trip to the
transfer station as I already am late for leaving home
to get to the school on time for the students—
Rabbi Tarfon, I’ve gotta say, it actually is on me
to do my chore, but for today, I call enough

9 toward the Omer

yahrzeit of Sylvia Greenfield Moses, z"l
gevurah shebgevurah

I come into the office to find that someone
has taped a bluebird onto the upper right corner
of the light brown windowframe I painted last week
and put in front of a construction paper view,
leave the office to find again a darkening sky

8 toward the Omer

chesed shebgevurah

The sunflowers who know when to break free
of waiting for return to come from where
the leaving one dipped below the long horizon,
know when to start with their own returning
to where they will be ready, as night
turns to day, to take light in anew--
have they ever known a moment like this?

7 toward the Omer

malkhut shebchesed

How lucky I am to have stood
long enough in the hallway at shul
after having biked back to maybe meet
with people who would want to talk--
looking at the English and Hebrew names
on the yahrzeit board--for her to
come out of the bathroom, this poet
who stops the part of our walk
where we're going in the same direction
to exclaim over the yellow daffodils rambunctious
through cracks in the asphalt and concrete,
who sees a stranded leaf, picks it up,
says she thinks of them as orphans,
returns it to what could be home

6 toward the Omer

yesod shebchesed

Another couch, me again, asking How
do you reach outside of yourself
and leave anything left? You learned
years ago, God says, didn't you?
It's turtles all the way down.
Come on, God, I say. Please.
Silence, then God says, All right.
The first turtle knows that she,
no matter what, is not bad.

5 toward the Omer

hod shebchesed

The clock I look at
and the clock he sees
as we sit on couch
and chair are a fraction
out of sync—secondhands following
one another just unharmoniously enough
to sound the room’s heartbeat—

4 toward the Omer

netzach shebchesed

I may not want
the different kind of

always that comes when
words come for the

that which has been
kept so tender by

the that of me
that holds on to
the that of you

with no words just
the outline of your

face, your hand, your
smile, one image, fragile,

soft as staghorn sumac

3 toward the Omer

tiferet shebchesed

how did I
trap myself into
feeling trapped by

myself my arms
push against the

door frame til
God says now

see what happens
when you take
one step forward

2 toward the Omer

gevurah shebchesed

driving past
the exit

1 toward the Omer

chesed shebchesed

my
mother
explains:
buttercups
by
morning
fill
again

my
mother,
the
buttercup

iea

it took til i was sick
and alone to get myself
to sit, do no more than listen
so when you told me to let go
there was only what was left
to let go of and in its stead—
as when river recognizes rain

Cathected

When I roll my soul out to measure the distance to you and it finds out how far
and reels back inside of me and the last bit reenters with that thunk
it hits my stomach like six feet of bubble tape swallowed