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Showing posts from 2020

First Grade

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“Don’t cry,” my mother tells me. I am in first grade, with a pretty knapsack and a lunch she packed me, and first grade always made me cry. “But I want to stay with you.” It was, to my five-year-old self, the most dramatic thing that I had to spend the whole day away from her, and I didn’t understand it. “You’ll be home soon.” -- “Don’t cry,” my mother tells me. It’s a habit that, as a twenty-something year old woman, I pretend I had grown out of. I’m sitting on her couch writing poetry – a piece from San Francisco that would one day become a friend’s housewarming present – and airplanes always made me cry. “I’ll just miss you, that’s all.” “You’ll be home in a few months.” None of us could have predicted a fucking pandemic that had probably already started, or known the next time I’d come back would be almost two years later. -- “I told you not to cry,” but I know she is also crying. She has stage four colorectal cancer, and we both wrote a piece with the exact sam...
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Lanterns

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I get lost in the rain. I let you tell me I have beautiful eyes. I don’t know why I walked into this store. I think the things I’m looking for aren’t in isle 7 beside the toilet paper and cheap tupperwear. I think the empty isles come closest. I think summer was a dream, I think I’d tucked away the feeling of learning which stores were boarded up and which ones still sold peanut butter. Of escorting strangers to buy necessities. Today I saw a stranger who looked like an old friend. I speak to my mom and tell myself it’s been 8 months since I’ve seen her. I wonder what would happen if I touched you by mistake. And so I’m standing in a world where the world avoids me, where everyone is masked and the masks are second nature, and wondering what I’m doing here. No. I know what I’m doing. I’m swimming in defiance. I’m stealing back the stolen moments, making promises I shouldn’t. I’m dancing on the fucking rooftops. The beauty of the sukkah is not the twinkling lights and pretty decorations...
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On Yom Kippur

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I climbed down to the river and said tashlich in the creek. Tangled in the weeds and wondering if I could beg forgiveness of myself this year, or if that defeats the purpose. For all the moments I misjudged, and the weight I placed upon them. The chances that I took for given. For that day - was it last year, truly? - when I looked into the river but saw your eyes instead, and saw the things I should have said but wasn’t brave enough to say them. They taste like earth, and smell like rain, and they will always, always carry connotations. I know I made you cry that day. Forgive me. * Perhaps Yom Kippur holds the answers I’ve been looking for. Perhaps they’ve been here all this time. A legal prayer set to annul our vows. So, our words hold enough power to require a special prayer just to nullify them. Enough power for the things we miss to require nullification. It makes sense, after all. G-d created with words, also. And yet. There is space to recognize that even gra...
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Judgement’s Counterpart

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What is a new beginning? I found it last year. I chose my own city and snuck out of shul to drink bourbon for breakfast (along with the rabbi). I moved into an Airbnb at 2 in the morning and wondered, for the first time, if eye contact was enough to save the life of the person who lived there. (I believe that it was, at least in that moment.) I signed my first lease on a stranger’s front doorstep, and started clean. It’s the dichotomy. Making space for things that feel like they can never fit together. The still, small voice of the shofar that follows a blast profound enough to frighten the angels - and yet that small voice means more, and perhaps holds the most. G-d as our beloved, as we stand before Him in judgement that holds both fear of what we stand to lose and awe of the potential for what we can build together. A communal new beginning, as it was for centuries, that we embark upon from the depths of solitude. This time last year? We were dancing barefoot on somebody’s roo...
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Tell Me What is Left

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Tell me what is left When you’ve scraped away everything. Cherished dinners, frantic schedules, beloved coffee gatherings. The time you played beside the pier, The time I got drunk and leapt from the rooftops. Once you’ve chiseled away the last of your strength, And, bare-boned and exhausted Stared into the swell of things we fear the most - And drank too deeply. Beyond the sink full of dishes at 2 in the morning, Beyond the floors that will never come clean. Once you’ve broken every boundary, And built empires from the fragments. Darling. Speak to me from this space. When you’ve unslept all the sleepless nights Building monoliths from memories We’ll sit in the half-formed structures, sharing coffee. This new space is stable. Forged of the feelings that endured when nothing else did Holding as their cornerstones the shards that survived shattering.
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The Twilight Time

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May I take you somewhere? The twilight time, that in between, where the suspended world meets this one, where the echoes of it all reverberate like laughter saying: I am clay. I know you are afraid to listen to the stillness. My lovely, wounded, beautiful warrior. I am, too. There is power to the softest voice, you know the one: Walking through the wreckage, weeping by the wayside. Hiding in the rain. The voice that can just be, childish and wild and exactly as it wishes, without needing to compete for anything. That voice says: I see you. I’m here. Shielding the strength to let go, From the day the world started spinning so fast it made itself dizzy. I did it for you. Are you running from the loneliness? Chewing the strength of your bones and spitting out ashes. It’s beautiful here.
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The World Fell on it’s Collective Ass

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I used to have expressive eyes. Perhaps masks are the world’s unifying feature. Perhaps they make pretty little mannequins of most of us. I am on Zillow looking at houses. What the heck am I doing at one in the morning, with a sink full of dishes dating through Tuesday, looking at houses? A sky-blue door, I think. I wandered everywhere yesterday. Drexel and Penn and South Philadelphia, talking to myself like a well-dressed lunatic, trying to discern the direction of my life. Don’t you also, at some point? Don’t you think aloud because words feel slightly more substantial than unspoken thought? Don’t you also speak to just defy the silence? (To justify the silence?) Perhaps I am the only one to wander past three shuls at once and watch the ones who used to stand there. Has everything changed, or has nothing? I sleep too much and rest too little. People are desperate. Mannequins are liars. * 𝐷𝑒𝑎𝑟 𝐺-𝑑, 𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝐼 𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑔𝑒𝑡 𝑚𝑦𝑠𝑒𝑙𝑓 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑜 𝑡𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑏𝑙...
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Nitrous

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This is harder, in a way. Seeing you through a mask is better than a screen. It breaks my heart a little bit each time. Here is what I think might happen. I think the person that I was, the one I worked so hard to find the day I left Texas with a vintage suitcase and a one-way ticket, she wouldn’t have survived this. I think the person I’ve become won’t fit into her old life. I’m not yet sure what this means going forward. I need to ask a favor. Will you forgive my broken heart? They pulled my tooth the other day. I kept making them laugh, so they wouldn’t do it. I don’t remember the song I was humming; it was half the visit before I realized I was doing it. Laughter is the purest wisdom. That’s what I decided. I haven’t quite figure out how to describe it. Music instead of nitrous oxide; I didn’t choose the song but by Gd it was fitting. 𝑆𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒𝑠 𝑚𝑦 𝑠𝑝𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑡’𝑠 𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑠𝑜 𝑠𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑒𝑑. Lying in that chair, staring at masked faces, watching them work on me. I felt ...
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Nostalgia

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Today the city smells like Austin. I wore my heart on my sleeve and my neighbor’s sock to work. Walked home in the silence and watched a tree fall, equal parts mesmerized and numbed to the shock of it. (Somebody else had to call the police. I have acquired 13 calls in less than two years already, and I’m not quite certain they don’t cut you off at 14.) Perhaps it is nostalgia that makes the city smell like Texas to me. Like waking up in a stranger’s house in that Airbnb, where I’d let myself in like I usually do and shared a blue tiled bathroom with an elderly Korean couple, before making my way down to the office with a suitcase. I am so tired of the masks. The physical and the metaphorical both. I thought one would destroy the other, and maybe for a time it had. (Perhaps I’ll run away and shed them both for a little while.) The largest crow I’d ever seen landed near my stoop this morning. And as it took flight with it’s massive, inky wings I remember thinking: please take the bad luc...
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Perhaps

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I burnt my coffee this morning and it tastes like travel. Truly. This is the flavor of a flight made by 15 seconds. Of boutique cafés and getting lost at the train station. Of breakfast right out on the fire escape overlooking San Francisco. For the past three days, I have refused to write this. I refused to write about other burning things. What would I say. That I suddenly need herbs to help me sleep. That I let my mind sit in such a web of impatience that it burnt my skin. That I found myself scrubbing the floors clean at one in the morning, on my hands and knees, because there was absolutely no other reasonable thing to do at that hour. They smashed the windows on the avenue where we built a community. (I know home is the people, more than any place.) Dare I complain about the floors, when humans just around the corner are sweeping glass from shattered storefronts where we once shared ice creams, and gathering their livelihoods from the potholes in the streets? Dear Gd, but I see h...
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The Echoes Letters Left

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Here is a picture of my schedule from before the world ended. It’s been on my fridge almost a year, beside a wedding invitation and that photo of my friends from Texas. A testament to the things I’d 𝑏𝑢𝑖𝑙𝑡 one moment at a time, to the knowledge that I had a place here in this city that I chose, a place I forged. Even after the world closed around us I couldn’t take it down. I squeezed phone interviews beneath the names of my students. Wrote Zoom schedules between the lines. I spent months scribbling new fragments in the space between old Shabbos dinner invitations, scrawling frantically outside the margins. I scrubbed it clean today, and it did not come easy. The letters clung. The schedule refused to be erased, echoes of words like 𝑀𝑜𝑛𝑑𝑎𝑦, and other useless things shadowing the space. I chipped two nails doing it. I chose a city I had never been to. I packed a bag and packed my car and I left one day. I could tell you stories about churches in the snow and meals by tik...
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To New Beginnings

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I found this quite by accident. It is a post titled All Beginnings are Hard, that I wrote in some dazed state in my first two weeks in this city. 𝑆𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒𝑠 𝑝𝑒𝑜𝑝𝑙𝑒 𝑠𝑎𝑦 𝑒𝑥𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑙𝑦 𝑤ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑛𝑒𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟. 𝑆𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒𝑠 𝑖𝑡’𝑠 ℎ𝑎𝑟𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑒 𝑎𝑢𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑐, 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑓𝑒𝑎𝑟 𝑜𝑓 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑜𝑓𝑓 𝑎𝑠 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑜𝑓 𝑎 𝑙𝑢𝑛𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑐 𝑖𝑛 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑛𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑎 𝑔𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑝 𝑜𝑓 𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑟𝑠. 𝑊ℎ𝑦 𝑑𝑖𝑑 𝐼 𝑐ℎ𝑜𝑜𝑠𝑒 𝑃ℎ𝑖𝑙𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑙𝑝ℎ𝑖𝑎? 𝑇𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑡𝑢𝑑𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑠 𝑎𝑡 𝑃𝑒𝑛𝑛, 𝑡𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑚𝑒𝑑𝑖𝑐𝑎𝑙 𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑟, 𝑡𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑓𝑜𝑙𝑘𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑚𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑑 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑗𝑜𝑏𝑠, 𝐼 𝑓𝑒𝑒𝑙 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝐼 𝑛𝑒𝑒𝑑 𝑎 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑜𝑛 𝑏𝑜𝑟𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑜𝑛 𝑙𝑜𝑔𝑖𝑐𝑎𝑙. 𝑊ℎ𝑦 ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒? 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑡𝑟𝑢𝑡ℎ 𝑖𝑠 𝐼 ℎ𝑎𝑑 𝑎 𝑚𝑎𝑝 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑈𝑛𝑖𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑆𝑡𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑠, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝐼 𝑛𝑎𝑟𝑟𝑜𝑤𝑒𝑑 𝑑𝑜𝑤𝑛. 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑡𝑟𝑢𝑡ℎ 𝑖𝑠 𝐼’𝑚 𝑙𝑜𝑜𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑎 ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑠𝑒 𝐼 𝑠𝑎𝑤 𝑖𝑛 𝑎 𝑑𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑚, 𝐼’𝑚 𝑙𝑜𝑜𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑛𝑒𝑐...
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Strawberries

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I never thought I'd feel nostalgic about strawberries. I didn’t when we left that house in California where I grew them from the balcony. Not even in Ohio, the place I loved the most, where they grew wild in the courtyard beside more garlic bulbs than we ever knew what to do with. In fact, I had forgotten them until this moment. I used to bring strawberries with me to Shabbos meals. With chocolates and whipped cream. I have never once purchased a box for myself and I never realized it. Not until the grocery store boasted its familiar sale, and I reached for them out of instinct. When I forgot, for a moment, that I had a mask on. That I was balancing the boxes on top of sale-brand toilet paper and three bags of frozen dinners, because if I carried everything at once I wouldn’t have to touch the carts. When I forgot that one person really has no need for boxes of strawberries. By the time I remembered it I had already stacked them underneath the spinach. I had already committed to to...
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Fire Through the Wreckage

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They cancelled the conference. The first time I went was my first weekend in the city, when I knew that I would live here someday. The next was the first time I gave a presentation from the pulpit. The day I redefined that dress. The day I really learned what love means. What does it mean that it’s all put on hold, when I finally found it? What is left in place of the year that was stolen from me? I find I’m working twice as hard to make the same ends meet. Where does the motivation comes from, when I can’t see the people who used to motivate me? It is there intrinsically, the desire to build something useful through the hell and the chaotic. This is my defiance, this is how I fight when I don’t have a solid target. Is it strange that I am teaching kids to fight on screen? It says something about their resilience – they have learned to adjust the camera and type questions and say hi to classmates from 1500 miles away. They have learned to spar with people they never met face to fac...
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The Choice of Transformation

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𝐼 𝑓𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑 𝑚𝑦 𝑓𝑖𝑟𝑒 𝑖𝑛 𝑎 𝑤𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑚. 𝐷𝑜𝑛’𝑡 𝑝𝑢𝑡 𝑚𝑒 𝑜𝑛 𝑎 𝑝𝑒𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑙. 𝐼 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝑏𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑘 𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑚𝑦 ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑠. 𝑀𝑎𝑟𝑏𝑙𝑒 𝑖𝑠 𝑡𝑜𝑜 𝑐𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑜𝑢𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝑝𝑜𝑟𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑒 ℎ𝑢𝑚𝑎𝑛 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡. 𝐼 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑟𝑢𝑛 𝑎𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑚𝑦 𝑠𝑜𝑢𝑙 𝑏𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑚𝑦 𝑓𝑎𝑐𝑒 ℎ𝑖𝑑𝑑𝑒𝑛. We all keep trying to return to the way it was. Aren’t you desperate? Desperate to drag yourself out of bed at 6 in the morning, to reteach your hardest classes and stare down the days that once had you questioning your profession to begin with? Haven’t-swept-the-floor-since-Pesach, sleeping-in-work-uniforms-because-by-G-d-I miss-it? Desperate to relive the beauty in the bottom of your third cup of coffee, and all the other things we all took for granted? It isn’t enough, just to go back to it. If we just return to the way it was, we lose the point in all of this. Take an Advil, and glory in the marvelous release from pain for a moment. Whe...
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Windstorm

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I had a dream the other night that explained my mind to me. In the absence of an answer I roam the streets at night, mourning all the things I miss. In the dream it was windy; I must have wandered as far as the river. I do that on occasion. But in this dream the wind picked up, and I laughed at the notion that it was strong enough to lift me. It’s an old childhood fear, being swept off by the wind. But it did grow strong enough, pulling my feet from beneath me. And even as I reached for the doorway of the nearest building – Chase Bank, if you must know it – even as my fingers brushed against the glass, I laughed at the adventure of it. This would make a clever story. But the wind picked up, sweeping broken beams and wreckage, and the Bank was sealed beneath the lockdown as everything else still is. The wind swept me sideways, one hand still gripping to the handle of the bank – black plastic – the other clinging to the cracks in concrete pavement. Holding on by my nails and the st...
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Sedalia

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This morning I missed a call from Sedalia. There is nothing in Sedalia, I only know it at all because I broke down there, when the train hit a stone. Sedalia is part of a story. It is a red-brick Amtrak kiosk and an hour on the tracks with $3 ketchup packets, and a wonderful view of the countryside. This morning I dreamed of Tempe. Of a house where I stayed for all of seven hours. Long enough to sleep, to run. To see Arizona’s deserts under a full sun, and a sky so blue it made me dizzy to look at. That was the day I left home. The day I put on corporate clothes and walked into an office with three suitcases and two backpacks beside my presentation, before flying from Phoenix to Philly at two in the morning. It’s funny how life works. Perhaps this is the great do-over everyone always asks for. The lamenting one does at the end of a lifetime, I should have done this-and-that, should have danced on that rooftop and looked into your eyes and eaten those chocolates with rum in the middle. ...
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The Taste of Heartbreak

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Today I learned the taste of heartbreak. I learned to calm myself down at two in the morning, when it’s too dark to tell if the pain in my chest is infection or disease or just the wilder emotions that don’t sit well with silence. We don’t talk about the things we miss. That is the first rule. We can say how strange things are, to fill the gap in conversations. If you mention how fast it fell, how quickly it all changed and spiraled beyond recognition, you are walking a tightrope. You’ll receive slanted looks – what you can see of them from above the masks. But you cannot talk about what used to be. I always break this rule. The first to laugh at the distance, to stare wistfully past windows. I am the first to chase down memories, all the way down to the pier, or the old shul, or the plaza. I keep finding things I lost in the strangest places. The electric bill was just under the coffee coaster. At the bottom of my bag, the pants I don’t remember packing. So I keep wondering if the...
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Messages of Glass

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Anything I write today would just be heartsick. Even if all I wrote was the answer to her text message. Perhaps the world fell apart at my hands and I am holding on to fragments. Perhaps I'm choking on my own heart. Holding on by my nails and the tips of my fingers as the shards of it all dig into my skin. It happened today, you know. I cut my hand on a yartzheit candle – the ones used to bring light and warmth to a holiday, but that are also used to commemorate the dead. Darling, I lost it long ago. Perhaps things were made with room to fall apart. Made with space to learn to cook alone, in the dark, because the city shut the lights off but it will still be shabbos. Am I sugar-coating if I say I am still looking for it? That I sometimes find meaning in the sky and a smile and the depths of your words … and that I sometimes scrape it up, with the dust and glass and all, from my knees on the kitchen floor? I know there is beauty in the way we rise. Strength in the things we br...
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Banana Bread and Chaos

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Do you also feel as though the world broke down around us? I found brown sugar in the freezer and want to bake family recipes. I want to fucking dance barefoot on the rooftops. I want to host a meal and just invite everybody. It is funny how we gained and lost time all at once. Both at the same time. I am counting down the days with no inkling of what day it is. And for once in my life wonder if my words aren’t strong enough. But they have to be. Because if I sit still, I can feel the fabric of the world again. It is turbulent, and shifty, but there is a rhythm to it underneath the chaos. I don’t know why I decided to see what was possible at 2 in the morning. Too restless to sleep, because it was raining. So instead I learned that laughter is defiant. I learned I still know how to fly, even if I dream of falling. Don’t cry, my love.
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Cherry Tree Memories

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We are scraping together some weird form of existence. I still find boarding passes in my bags. Travel food – tuna and peanuts and plastic spoons, condiment packets from six different airports and napkins neatly folded from once-vibrant coffee kiosks. If it wasn’t for Passover, I couldn’t bring myself to toss them. Here, all the notes from my last presentation. There, a calendar, completely irrelevant. A poem, a prayer, a request from a stranger, a month that hid away a year. Who decides what it essential? Who molds together something coherent and practical from the madness that remains behind it all? It is the grown women, barefoot, in the cherry trees. I am thoroughly convinced of this. I tried it myself this morning, I ran barefoot through the grass and pulled blossoms from my clothing the way I once pulled gypsum fragments. The artist-turned-maskmaker, forging hand-woven work for strangers. Phone trees and shared memories and elders gathering bouquets down beside the rive...
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I wrote a poem 😁

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Are these socks from yesterday? It’s been a month since I last shaved But at least my eyebrows can finally grow even Acting out one-woman dramas, Locked myself out in pajamas I knew I’d have to walk a mile in slippers some day Weapons classes in my kitchen My poor neighbors have to listen Who’s laundry am I folding and how’d it get here anyway? I don’t need a bra today What the heck is Maprilay? Neighbor singing in the bathroom and now I know all the lyrics I’m getting dressed at 3PM I brushed my hair, but that was when I treasured the give-a-damn; trust me, it’s overrated Shops downtown are straight-up vacant Did I walk past that camera naked? Smile for me, darling, and we’ll be okay.
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Thank G-d for Glitter

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Can I touch you? Can I hold you? Is it still forbidden? I found some glitter on my face from Purim and laughed until I cried. Are we all living in such a state of unease, to be brought to tears by a fleck of glitter? By the memories of a prayer? It is both at once these days. Laughing and crying are the same damn thing to me. I roam the streets at night at wonder where the world went. Tangled in the little lights illuminating vacant tables by garden restaurants? In the footprints on an empty plaza? They closed the Avenue, did you know that? Even the parts we built. Well, I found the miracles I was searching for this morning. They were hidden in the cherry trees. Thank G-d for the wedding. Thank G-d for whipped cream with bourbon. Thank G-d my friend got a job two days before they closed the hiring offices. Thank G-d for glitter, the herpes of the artistic world. With all that you have, guard the spark in your eyes. That is my request. Guard it close and hold it. For the adult couple bl...
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The World Shut Down and Life Got Crazy

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And the world shut down and life got crazy, all at once a movie where we missed the beginning and the writers are on acid. I had a dream last night that we were racing toward wishes. And in the dream I kept saying, “I had everything I’d ever wanted.” I had everything I’d ever wanted. I cried in the dream and I woke up crying, and if I say those words to myself I will stop everything and cry even still. Be strong, be strong, be strong. Amidst all the 𝑡𝑟𝑦𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒𝑠 and 𝑎𝑏𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑎𝑢𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 s. Don’t you know I hate it all. Don’t you know you can’t live your life on a screen. Be strong. I knew it then. I knew what a gift it was. Be strong amidst the empty shelves at the grocery store, strong amidst the knowledge that only G-d knows how long this goes on for. Were do we stand now? We wash our hands so much they bleed. The news floods us with nothing but news of uncertainty. Well, here is what I know. My life changes in a m...
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