21 toward the Omer

malkhut shebtiferet

Finally, you are how you want to be, and finally, I am how I want to be, and these physics...balance.

20 toward the Omer

yesod shebtiferet

The fear a fuzz on the threads between us, the spun strands resolute—a rope with tensile strength, not compressive—

19 toward the Omer

hod shebtiferet

all of these true, beautiful: the beets, peeled, heartlike, on the cutting board; her hands, red with beet;

our kitchen dance, me wearing a black sweater, not worrying where hands fall; me putting down the phone, committed, flawed

18 toward the Omer

netzach shebtiferet

A new pothos leaf has started to grow through the center of a stem stump from months ago

17 toward the Omer

tiferet shebtiferet

It’s balance within balance, not a balancing act, God says. What if the plates fall? I ask.
It’s okay, God says, it’s just plates. But some plates are people, I say. God sighs big.
You’re not a plate, God says. No people are plates. If you’ve made any people into plates,
unplate them. How do I unplate them without them falling? I say. Tell them that you’re sorry,
God says, for making them into plates. Then figure out what plates you hold together. But what,
I say, if I drop those plates? Oh, child, still grieving one, God says, go to bed.
In a second, I say. I wanna go check on the plants first, the ones from earlier,
remember, on the porch? See whether the water’s done them any good. All right, God says, smiling.

16 toward the Omer

gevurah shebtiferet

napping on the sunporch next to my seedlings in their egg cartons in the cookie trays—

That could be my poem! I say to her. It could be your poem, she replies.

It’s actually one of mine, God says. They’re all in public domain, but attribution is polite.

15 toward the Omer

Chesed shebtiferet

In line for the grocery store, a man I might recognize more without the mask

maybe recognizes me—and how do I judge, from a distance of four people by

six feet and with no mouths to go by, whether our repeated looks are a yes

or a sign of at least one person being confused? A head nod could've worked,

I realize afterwards, to diffuse any concern on his part, even if it would not

have resolved anything, and while the person in the car at the intersection last Sunday

helpfully affirmed that I have a fine ass, it's time to practice my eye smiles

14 toward the Omer

malkhut shebigvurah

I dream of France, of all places, and of a love I’d met before,
according to the dream, and of you, dear you, flying ahead on a broomstick

13 toward the Omer

yesod shebigvurah

when struggling to connect, don't underestimate the power of a knock knock joke

which after all is about one person uncertain if the other is safe
and another person hesitating at first to share their full name or need

oh, then, the tendril of a knock, knock, coming from the other side!

12 toward the Omer

hod shebigvurah

I didn't know my heart before I heard "bye, I'll miss you"--
my neurons continuing our mirror game well past the bows and handstands

relearning again another response to power than fight, flight, freeze, fawn: meet

11 toward the Omer

netzach shebigvurah

Finally, today, the phone becomes me, as perhaps it had to.
A child makes it happen, using hide and seek, how children
create hereness out of almost nothing, test it, prove it true.
"Stay quiet," they whisper to my Zoomed image under the pillow,
and I do, until another person home finds me, phone, again.

God, is being known through your vessels just as exhausting, exhilarating?
How psyched are you for us to return to your office
where we can play catch together in all our infinite dimensions?

10 toward the Omer

tiferet shebigvurah

I call my parents from my bike to tell them
that I’ve raised my bike seat by half an inch
because I’ll love when they agree this is a milestone

9 toward the Omer

gevurah shebigvurah
In continued memory of Sylvia Greenfield Moses, z”l
and with gratitude to Joanna Macy and the Work That Reconnects

As we others in Council listen to little plant
on the tall desk by the window who proposes,
on behalf of all house plants, a yearly ritual
where humans bring them outside to be a bit
with the Big Dirt, little plant will listen too—

none, to speak, needing another sun to turn moon

8 toward the Omer

chesed shebigvurah

Not the walls along the road, blocking out
or hedging in, but the road itself, sure,
unfurling before my gaze each way I turn—
this, and only this, will keep me safe

7 toward the Omer

malkhut shebchesed

I didn’t know what it would be
until it happened, which is how I
wanted it to be. And this poem,
God says, what is happening right now?
Well, I say, I didn’t expect you
to show up quite like this. I’m
always here, God says. It just took
some time this time around for you
to not wait for the right moment.

I'm glad you're here, God, I say,
but I still want the memories, they
were almost back with me, can you
help me find them? Okay, God says,
here they are, in no particular order:
Mask. Bike. Neighbors who do not come
when you sing outside. Other neighbors' backyard.
Sunlit porch. Magnolia tree. Mopping. Her reading
today's Omer learnings to you from three

separate books. You've met her, I say.
Of course I've met her, God says.
Haven't you? I thought I'd meet myself
first, I say, and God is silent.

6 toward the Omer

yesod shebchesed

before they dance the water droplets—
their poised form on the rock
facing the river, sticks held waiting

5 toward the Omer #2

hod shebchesed

I tell him that I’m
worried it would hurt him
to ask him to remain
focused on me while I
write but instead he says
No one’s ever asked me
to connect this way before

he then tells me in
grad school when clients didn’t
show he wrote a poem
called “let me help you
or I’ll smash your brains
to bits” caveating that he’d
write a different poem now

maybe I could call this
“I’m here not ignoring that
you’re not ignoring me even
when it’s like I’m ignoring,
because you know I’m not,
and this is called connection,
the reason we both entered
this doxy.me and this world,
thank you and you’re welcome”

5 toward the Omer

hod shebchesed

These long hairs on the
bathroom floor are not mine—
I comb in the shower—
but I’ll sweep them up,
just as she will clean,
as she notes, the drain

4 toward the Omer

netzach shebchesed

I fold napkins, think
of writing you that,
even if you were
to respond that it’s
not actually too late
for you, it actually
might be too late
for me, and don’t

3 toward the Omer

tiferet shebchesed

barefoot, seated, leaning
against the supports
for one of
the two iron
handrails for the
concrete steps leading
generally from our
front porch to
the front walkway
to the sidewalk
with the more
forward of the
two local outdoor
cats newly having
found your lap
on the lawn
as you visit
from the house
on the corner
that just three
weeks ago I
didn’t know was
where you lived
(it would have
required at least
me knowing that
you exist but
when a person
is gone those
who are left
rearrange), I pour
five more peanut
M&Ms into my
hand from the
bag I’d found
some days ago
in the pocket
of a raincoat

2 toward the Omer

gevurah shebchesed

At the
tables of
my family's
gathering I
lean slightly
back to
find a
pillow of
outstretched arm

1 toward the Omer

chesed shebchesed

the
braided
orange
anklet
breaks
pulled
in
one
direction
by
my
thumb
that
intended
to
remove
just
sock

I
didn't
know
when
I
knotted
it
on
why
I
did
so

did
not
know
its
meaning
chosen
or
unchosen

did
not
know
when
it
would
be
time

now,
released
(from
what?),
I
don't
know
what's
next
and
am

content

Pre-Pesach poem 5780

Pre-Pesach 5780:
Scavenger Hunt
in the Age of Telehealth

Find something round,
find something that makes you happy,
find a window,
find a book.

Find your feet,
wherever they are.
Find the tip of your nose.
Find each shoulder, each hip.
Find one of your favorite memories.

Find a thing that's broken.
Find something deeply well.
(You're allowed to double-count things.)

Find two things different today from yesterday.
Maybe, as you start out,
it's just your clothes
and the clouds outside.

Find something purple-pink.
Find one thing everlasting.

4.8.2020