Levi Nathan

Levi Nathan

His eyes glisten,
absorbing the laughter surrounding him.
He is held, carried, and handed over from one
person to another,
like a treasured Torah scroll,
celebrated on Simchat Torah.
On holy days, I gripped my grandmother's hand,
When we walked to the shul.
Her quiet strength was palpable.
I was conscious of her grace.
Grandma urged me to kiss the Torah mantle,
blue velvet embroidered with golden threads.
Make a wish, she whispered.
Grandma would have loved this precious boy,
sweetness flowing from him like rivers of milk
and mountains of honey.
He coos with delight when he sees his siblings.
Blessed days are made of these moments,
they are a prayer to be lost in. A melody that awakens from within. 

Sally

Sally

 

I no longer remember the sound of her laughter.

I no longer remember the scent of her perfume.

Did she bake challah for the Sabbath?

Did her hands form a perfect braid?

The wind whispered her name. 

Her hair flowed when she walked. 

Darkness, illuminated by her smile.

She embraced her husband for the last time.

The memories of their newlywed days sustained her.

Their faces beamed when they found each other in a crowd.

Their hearts beat as one.

Their unconscious flowing tenderness was seamless.

A dance of life, filled with beauty and kindness.

Sally mourned my beloved uncle’s death.

Devastated and alone she returned 

to reclaim their home.

The villagers that pillaged their possessions 

took her life. 

Her body was dismembered. 

I might imagine all the places where 

the parts were thrown. 

Patches of beautiful lilies grew there. 

(This poem originally appeared in A Corner in the World: 

Holocaust Poems for My Father.

 

The Laceration

The ache is not a discomfort.

It’s anguish.

A laceration,

Piercing into the core

Of what I believed to be true.

I mourn who we were

Before the distortion 

Led us to who we have become.

Going To The Moon

I am so honored to be a part of The Lunar Codex. The Lunar Codex is an archive of contemporary art, books, music, poetry and film, launched via NASA’s Artemis partners to the moon.

One word comes to mind gratitude, gratitude, gratitude.

I Am Water

 

 

 

 

 
I am fluid
as the river
flowing through a canyon.
I am not stagnant water
standing
still in a bucket.
I am rippling,
rolling,
unbroken.
I am free.

The Sun

 

The darkest hours

will unravel the light.

Waiting,

questioning 

the conundrum.

Disentanglement 

will be late coming.

In Mariupol, the smoke

is rising.

The land is ravaged.

In the steel factory

the girl has sheltered

52 days

underground.

All she wants is to

see the sun.

The Rubble

 

The Rubble

The rubble stained.

The rubble cloaks shame.

Innocence taken.

Innocence lost and forgotten,

as if it never existed.

Once, there were children playing,

their laughter echoing through these streets.

Their faces beamed with joy as they ran free,

playing hopscotch and hide-and-go-seek.

Once, fathers and mothers tucked their children into bed.

Teeth brushed,

bruises tended to,

bedtime stories told, as

the moon and stuffed animals listened.

Once, there were lunches made,

homework examined,

board games played,

holidays celebrated,

music played.

Once, there were grandparents conversing,

tending to the children,

bridging the present to the past.

The sun rose.

The sun set.

Life was lived.

Love was shared.

Underneath the rubble,

bodies are buried.

Hope ravaged.

Laughter silenced.

Life ended.

The promise of tomorrow stolen.

 

Praying for the people of Ukraine