blow out your candles.
make a wish.
hold up a protest sign.
tonight the fireworks spell R E S I S T.
your hair's in pigtails braided red blue and white.
this country's like a drawing colored out of the lines.
happy birthday america.
you never asked for this.
and someday you hope to see a better fourth of july.
I go through weeks like I do sheets of paper, or hair ties, or poems.
I use them all up but I can't remember what I wrote.
Years are like that too. Someone asks what I did last Monday
The East Wind is a rabbi in a darkened shul. He sits pored over the Torah scroll long into the night, his back bent like a cane. People come and go and come again, whispering prayers for the needy, the hungry, the sick.
my walk home.
the 4 p.m. sunset already lighting the shamash on the horizon,
melting the mountains like orange wax.
lunch with my friends, onion rings & coconut yogurt
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