Reid@YWP

The tides still ebb 

The sun still rises 

The trees still grow 

My curls are longer now. 

We have a new president new governors 

Different colors speckling made up maps 

I wish I could see the world like a puzzle

with each piece

having one

rightful

place.

But there is far too much 

idealist romantic

in me 

for that to be the case.

I think

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.

Grief, in all forms, in all ways, changes you. I am not afraid of spiders—they crawl, and they creep, and they dangle from their long lines of gossamer webbing, and they watch me.

So you want to talk about the meaning of life? There are many people telling you what your life should mean. More importantly what your time should be, because what is life except time and consciousness? Some people say your time is money.