INHERITED MEMORY: BACK FROM THE MIKVEH
Setting: penumbra of lamplight,
clothed in warm flannel,
back from the mikveh,
my bleeding done.
You—always a stranger
beside me—
a gentleman in front of others.
A monster with drink,
in bed a voracious animal
or an exhausted peasant.
And me, who am I?
A victim of the brutal night?
Or a stranger’s cruelty—?
A rapacious husband
who pretends passivity
during the day?
A bristle of beard on soft skin.
Can this be illuminated
in the melting darkness?
AVALANCHE
The cornice above the granite face
hovers a shiver from disaster.
A ski edge, a dog paw is all it needs
to release the suspended energy
of time’s snowy curtain.
Did the ravens and spiders who guard this kingdom
abandon their vigil?
Does the snow misting behind the avalanche have memory?
Do I have to remind you, his mother expected him,
praising his prowess in the snow?
How quick a river can become a riptide,
a wave a tsunami.
How the flesh compresses under the weight of ice—
how life is stilled.
The phone call in the night,
the answering machine message retrieved in the morning.
The mother’s voice;
My son, my only child; the dog in the snow,
distraught, searching.
The father gazing nightly thereafter into his blazing bonfires,
a ticking timepiece, the forsaken dreams,
superhero figures unearthed in the yard years later.
From where? All that remained.
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