Only seconds before he ripped the larynx straight out of my neck, I had what I can only describe as a miraculous life-saving revelation.
You get up at 6:15 AM to make it from Santa Monica to the Persian kosher market in the Pico...
Fear/Loss/Death/Prayer/Faith/Love. This is a small poem about big things.
We are all products of the triumphs and foibles of our parents. Perhaps one difference is that while some of us try our hardest to forget, others of us work just as hard to keep our memories alive.
Noah’s brother and son in law each take one of Noah’s arms. If they were to let go even for a moment, he would fall into the open grave from sheer anguish.
As the first scoop of dirt hits his son’s casket, Noah drops to his knees and he moans, almost as a whisper —or an afterthought. The sound that passes from his lips is unearthly.
And as we dared to be human they moved behind us and began to blow again, propelling us to places our natural strengths could never carry us.
Hey. It’s 4:43 AM in Jerusalem. I just woke up crying, from the sweetest/saddest dream. I was holding you....
This is a strictly non-medical way of looking at pain relief.
This is a poem about intergenerational memories; ones so powerful they are passed down through the DNA.
