God,
At this Mad Hatter’s tea party,
my chair an inverted olive tree,
the roots poke and
oil pools at my bare feet.
At this Mad Hatter’s tea party,
my chair an inverted olive tree,
the roots poke and
oil pools at my bare feet.
My dress is a patchwork of bring them home posters, hospital rubble,
yellow ribbons, bullet marks in plaster, urine stained sheets, a cookie recipe,
drafts of song lyrics, a baby registration certificate – for twins,
the cold floor of another bomb shelter, white body bags, the child’s sock left behind in a safe room,
a trout fishery label, a bit of schach from a sukkah, a torn bit of hijab, and batman stickers.
yellow ribbons, bullet marks in plaster, urine stained sheets, a cookie recipe,
drafts of song lyrics, a baby registration certificate – for twins,
the cold floor of another bomb shelter, white body bags, the child’s sock left behind in a safe room,
a trout fishery label, a bit of schach from a sukkah, a torn bit of hijab, and batman stickers.
English Breakfast tea seeps through the cracks in the bone china.
The Hatter keeps pouring.
I am drenched.
The Hatter keeps pouring.
I am drenched.
But, God, even if I have cried gallons of tears and the riddles are unsolvable
and some of the narratives are nonsensical
and who sits where and when feels like chaos
and when I cross my arms and stomp my foot because it is not actually eternally tea time,
the cold liquid splashes my legs . . .
and some of the narratives are nonsensical
and who sits where and when feels like chaos
and when I cross my arms and stomp my foot because it is not actually eternally tea time,
the cold liquid splashes my legs . . .
I am not Alice.
I will not leave without saying goodbye.
I will not leave at all.
I will not leave without saying goodbye.
I will not leave at all.
So help me.
Help me stay curious and when I can’t make sense out of nonsense help me find a better storyteller.
Help me hold onto my muchness and remember who I am.
Help me discern meaning and intention however the world around us spins.
Help me stay curious and when I can’t make sense out of nonsense help me find a better storyteller.
Help me hold onto my muchness and remember who I am.
Help me discern meaning and intention however the world around us spins.
And God,
When I pray for peace, help me stay raw.
Help me taste the bitterness of the tea and feel
the rough patchwork
against my skin.
When I pray for peace, help me stay raw.
Help me taste the bitterness of the tea and feel
the rough patchwork
against my skin.
