Hold the vegetables, or: Salted with my tears

I learned how to make matzah brei from Papa z"l. This is a very fond childhood memory of mine and remains one of my favorite Pesach foods even today.

A poem in blank verse They met and married in the seventies, several years after their Aliyah from the Soviet Union, a regime which had stripped their families of Jewish knowledge and traditions. Very few Jews were granted visas for emigration in those years, as leaving the Mother Land was considered betrayal. Israel transformed them;… Continue reading Hold the vegetables, or: Salted with my tears

Stove top, or: Sink

Poetry Partners #26 'my kitchen is a graveyard' by Jo of 'people in poetry' this poem has no metaphors. everyday, in the garden of my stove top, scalding and burned, i resurrect the last few memories i still have of places i have lived. and in the absence of the life carried in the hum… Continue reading Stove top, or: Sink

Insider, or: Outsider

A quadrille In the form of a Shadorma My best friend in graduate school was Christian. As a Jew, I asked for help with our school's tree and its tinsel. I'd gone to Salvation Army to pick up Angels for that fake fir tree. Each had a poor child's name on it. Shadorma The Shadorma… Continue reading Insider, or: Outsider

The case of the stiff fingers

Papa's fingers Papa was supposed to visit us in August of 2018, but his unexpected death came that July, just before his intended visit to Israel. I last saw him in person in the summer of 2017. One of the last memories I have of Papa is him showing me his right hand. He bent… Continue reading The case of the stiff fingers

David, or: ben Alexander

In memory of Papa My 1st ghazal I remember his toolboxes, table vice, hand sander Still remember foul humor, impatience, frank candor I remember clever math tricks and right-wing politics And sultry actresses at whom he would gander I remember him sitting, reading, problem solving Frustrated, resigned, when his mind would meander I remember long… Continue reading David, or: ben Alexander

Warm love, or: Glowing memories

A Cleave poem in the form of two Shadormas Chanukah festivalwith bright atmosphere permeating through ~filling our Jewish homes;children’s hearts; familieshas left glowing memories held together by warm lovelasting forever across gen’rations How to read a cleave poem? Simply: Read the left hand poem as a first discrete poem.Read the right hand poem as a… Continue reading Warm love, or: Glowing memories

Memories, or: Dreams

My 2nd blank verse EPIGRAPH: We all have our time machines. Some take us back, they’re called memories. Some take us forward, they’re called dreams.–Jeremy Irons (b. 1948) ... regret and failure, hopelessness against bulwark stubborn the generation's this; responding before breathe and pause; pain and anger the stifle and, kiss, hug, smile shall I; do… Continue reading Memories, or: Dreams

Memories are like mulligatawny soup…

We all have our time machines. Some take us back, they're called memories. Some take us forward, they're called dreams.-Jeremy Irons (b. 1948) Things don't really impress me. Memories impress me. It's not the toys, it's the people.-R. A. Salvatore (b. 1959) Repetition doesn't create memories. New experiences do.-Brian Chesky (b. 1981) Every journey into… Continue reading Memories are like mulligatawny soup…