#BlogElul 15: Plan

Being Open to Interruption

You plan your time and

then an intruder arrives

with a  strange request

#BlogElul 14: Learn

  Attending Night School 

My grandmother Yette wrote her name

on scraps of paper and added them to

a pile of completed homework—

She practiced each letter 

as if remaining in this country 

depended on the way each

letter adhered to form

Twice a week she rode a bus

to her evening English class—

Sometimes she brought the teacher

a piece of homemade  honey cake

When she died a stack of her written name

remained on a bookshelf 

between a prayer book and a shoebox

filled with Yiddish and Polish writings

#BlogElul 13:Remember

     Conversion

I remember what I cannot say

because once said it no longer

retains that quiet whisper

It squanders questions by

remaining in my head

Once I shared a hint—not

complete but enough to give 

some light, a shadow— 

a  penumbra in waiting

I remember how I bent my will

and stepped onto a  path—

I remember step by step 

moving along, allowing myself

to enter into the shoals and eddies—

mountains and pastures

#BlogElul 12: Count

Turning

Count on days shrinking 

and darkness in ascension

Count on the cycle starting

again with “ In the beginning...”

and count on leaves tossed

about by wind and even a breeze

Count on remembering the past year—
the places that need mending, the

words left unsaid and the words said

Count on a chance to repair

places torn by words

# BlogElul 11: Trust

I Trust You to Use it Well

My mother’s philodendron lived for thirty-seven years—

twice repotted, watered frequently, and in a place filled

with light that streamed in between slotted blinds—

My mother bought the plant, a vacuum cleaner and a dining
room table after I moved into my own home

Each month she sent me money to do with as I wished

She never asked how I spent the money she sent 
when she received my father’s pension check

It never occurred to me to ask what she did without

BlogElul. 10: Forgive

Unread

To forgive requires a backward glance—

the sweeping out of corners,

flooding the past with strobe lights

and holding what is found 

until you decide to forgive

even when you know that your words,

shrugged off as unimportant

will remain unread

BlogElul 9: see

  The View

My favorite spot to view the ocean,

to watch the waves climb over

rocks set in their appointed places

is a flat rock that tilts to the left

From that rock I see the horizon line

and the way the ocean blurs a clear 

demarcation between blue hues

I wrap myself in kelp for warmth

and watch the ocean inhale and exhale

BlogElul 8: Hear

A Hymn to Words

They listen to the wind 

unravel between branches, 

toss twigs, launch acorns 

No one else is on the trail—

it belongs to them 

Before the sun retreats

they hear their words echo

in the space between said

and unsaid words

BlogElul 7: Understand

Misconstrue

Only three letters

separate understand from—

“to misunderstand”

#BlogElul 6: Want

    Not Yet, Perhaps Soon

Is it selfish to own many wants

when others own a paucity

Some wants remain silent

They carry themselves from

year to year, brushed off,

reworded in the hope that

they will be fulfilled.

#BlogElul 5: Commit

   The Binding

More than a passing fancy,

an intellectual conundrum

It requires a shift in thinking,

a transformation from one

place to another

It requires words said aloud—

each syllable consecrated

To commit to anything

tames the Tightrope Walker

who resides within

#BlogElul 4: Choose

 The Quandary

To choose 

To elect a choice from

myriad possibilities

requires turning away

and turning toward

As if it’s ever that simple

to say either or

when you own both sides

#BlogElul 3: Prepare

Unexpected 

You can’t prepare for

every contingency, our

life writes its own script

#BlogElul 2: Seek

Mending Fences

When you wander

within a maze

barriers alter paths

and force 

a change of direction

I seek a way

to cancel out walls

and mend broken places,

to create a new itinerary 

where paths intersect

and roadblocks disappear

#blogElul 1: Decide

     A False Premise

Some stories rest 
under unspoken words,

beneath layers of years

Shall I excavate 
a buried narrative,

dust off the detritus, 
shake it 

and let it breathe 

The story itself is tame, 
but spools 
into a chronicle 
that rests on a flimsy base

Authentic history 
requires primary sources

Yet, I cannot decide