3 toward the Omer

tiferet shebchesed

I don’t think
these seeds from
last year’s flowers

need more fecundity
but MiracleGro is
all I have

I plant them
in the egg
carton, wash my
hands as instructed

2 toward the Omer

gevurah shebchesed

don't confuse
your needs

with kindness—

if these
are different,

so be

1 toward the Omer

After 400 Years
chesed shebchesed

One
sometimes
does
not
know

how
to
ask—

in
not
being
asked

the
answer

has
already
been
made
clear,
no?—

but
even
when

I’ve
lost
myself

nestled
in
me

is
something

that
will,

recognized,

respond

Pre-Pesach poem 5781: Constriction

The hammock stretches under me as I shift position
and a diamond imprints into the skin of my left arm.

My right hand goes to pass something to my left hand
and finds it is no longer connected—when did that happen?

The butterfly lands again on the stalk—it always does—
but I must never have envisioned where grass meets ground.

Now, I grow the forest lush on my back. I make it teem with life
connected to mine. The bleakness opens ahead, unthreatening

once I know it’s there, and where it is. I will walk in.
If others follow, so be it. But I cannot afford to wait,

and the green-gold waves simply won’t. We have a deal,
you see: They will split, after I enter, before I part.

You belong here, the dog says as it eats my bones.
I say You too, collect myself and run away.