OverTheRainbow

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

I walk home wearing twin braids with bows

and a big smile because I'm wishing for snow.

Snow like a blanket, thick and white,

I want it to fall all through the night -

to cover the roads and the trees and the hills,

her name began with a d and her hair curled in gold ringlets like coins

and her laugh was infectious and her smile was too

and her eyes sparkled when they caught the light. she walked

i think cats read poetry. you can tell

in the way their tails swish and how they fold their legs

all the time, probably wondering how silvery the pinecones

will look tomorrow,