gevurah shebgevurah
in continued memory of Sylvia Greenfield Moses, zichrona livracha
I didn’t expect legs would fall asleep in heaven,
or that I would have to catch myself leaving
and encourage myself to return, but the rest is
just about how I’d imagined the place to be—
sitting silent here together, facing away, trusting, being trusted.
I watch the next breath of my life begin
with no intention of making it so, watch it
until it goes. I stand when it’s time to,
stumble as the blood rushes along its merry way.
Back upstairs, I blessedly end up in front of
no statues, bow, put toes, oops, on the fingers
of the man behind me, who, when we rise
and turn again, becomes the man on my left
who gives me the book I need already opened
to the right page. Today, we remember our ancestors.
Today, the five aspects of human existence are empty,
nothing is born, nothing dies. Today, I dust mop
the main hallway—gone, gone over—and get released—
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