Happy 31

 

 

 The years slip away,

the days evaporate,

the moments sustain us,

love remains and thrives.

 

 

 

 

Happy Birthday to my boy! I love you always and forever <3 br="">

 

 

Sixteen

Sixteen

is the handsome boy

that feels like an

ugly duckling.

Sixteen

is wise remarks

that make me laugh

even though I restrain myself.

Sixteen is dark humor 

mixed with silly undertones.

It's tousled curls in his hair

when it was always lank.

Sixteen is a world

I want to step into

as I sink into a marsh.

I try to remember

my sixteen,

my youth,

my insecurities,

and struggle 

to mirror his uncharted sea.

Sixteen is loving

in small gestures,

it's late nights,

boundless energy,

it's heavy and light.

Sixteen

is sinking into a computer screen

for endless hours,

talking to friends

while saying nothing

of importance.

Sixteen

resides in a room 

that resembles a dungeon.

The only beacon are keepsakes

buried in the closet and chest

of drawers.

He is witty like Stephen Colbert

and funny like Jon Stewart

not that I would compare him to either.

He is unique,

this sixteen unparalleled 

to any other.

This is his path to walk on,

and mine to follow from a distance

with unconditional love.

16

My boy Daniel celebrated his sixteenth birthday yesterday. He is one of the greatest teachers in my life. I have been filled with wonder from the first moment that I saw him. I love him to the moon and back. This morning we are on the road and I have not had time to write a proper post for this milestone but I did want to acknowledge this special time in his and our life.

Let Sadness In

Let sadness

transform you,

trickle down from

your head to your toes.

Let it widen your chest

and raise your heart.

Let sadness dance

in your veins,

a slow dance,

a deliberate dance.

Open the window,

let it sit for awhile.

Let it soak in your bones,

let it ravage you.

It will travel through 

the chambers of your heart

and it will leave you weak at the knees

like a gentle lover.

It will dissolve like fog at daybreak 

over the harbor.

You will grow

from the heartache,

you will weather the storm.

You will survive,

you will find joy.

Her Hands

I don't recognize these hands

blemished and wrinkled.

These hands

were attached to my body

for twenty years 

while I slept.

I awake to find them asking,

why I am reluctant to claim them.

They ask

why I pretend to be

a patient with temporary amnesia.

I don't recognize these hands,

they washed dishes,

changed soiled diapers,

turned pages,

and touched fevered foreheads.

Mom had beautiful hands,

even when she passed away

at eighty years old.

She rubbed them

with cream from Switzerland

after she finished

chores,

baked and cooked,

hung up her day,

like a coat on a hanger.

Mom caressed her hands,

as faint luxurious scent

floating in the air.

Mom had beautiful hands,

not mine.

Grandson

Grandson,

I dream of holding your 

sweet slumber in my arms.

Your hair wild,

your eyes luminous.

My finger laced

in yours.

My thoughts

 swept away,

unravel with hope and wonder.

You are a mystery,

I have yet to discover.

My heart beats

with anticipation.

Grandson,

I await

to greet you,

to look into your angelic eyes,

to touch your tender skin.

We have not met

but I love you

your footprints are

engraved on my heart.

Your breath,

your life,

a celebration

of adoration.

We have not met

but I love you.

Going Home

Her rivers pulsate in the veins of my mind,

her desert's wilderness on my skin.

Her land a piece of my narrative,

she thunders in the echoes of my thoughts,

in the geography of my being.

The soundtrack of childhood,

hopscotched into the present.

My roots tangled

with blurred lines

of self,

of quest,

of devotion.

Recently I went back to my birthplace of Israel. I was delighted and whole to be there,

to bathe in her beauty and to be with family that I love.