Tuesday, January 27, 2009


The house is without onions,
grey has overdrawn the sky.
Silent cell phone in the other room
begs an echo.
The young girl's cat,
missing the girl,
nests anew 
in every chair.

We pretend to read,
fingers following every line,
but lacking pictures the pages
stay unturned.
It might as well be
the one night Jesus
lay dead.

Even the motor gunning trucks
are dry leaves in a blind alley.
Separation is not a mother's
favorite skill.

Bum ankle creaking stairs,
I cart the coffee trey and cereal,
ancient altar boy in steaming
As the cups are finished,
the calendar fast forwards
toward return.

Monday, January 19, 2009

Window Dressing

The day after sin sits
frozen, off yellow wax
staining the otherwise blue.
If it weren't for the light
of the Empty Tomb,
you'd think it ruined,
but as the window seat glass
reflects the wondering face
above approaching city lamps,
a whisper of angels
numbers a current of prayers,
circling in the air draft,
posting the eternal ETA
of our forgiveness
and future.

Far from home,
going home,
the jammed seats
face forward to a welcome
landing, the trained to be friendly
personnel assure us
the gravity we just defied
bears no grudge,
and the first steps we take
in the new, will much resemble
our last, dignified
by hope.

Thursday, January 1, 2009


My wit's end
is a balloon string
spectacular in release.
I lean into the wind
"blowing where it wishes"
and watch my apprehensive crutch
fall to the yard.

Messianic melodies
drape on a mandolin,
is it a mitzvah ?
Our Deity digs ditties,
a few angels spared
for the heads of tuning pegs.

Not yet old men,
our grown children
groan over our table manners
at the Feast.
Challah bread and jelly
not the only things
common  to our plate.