Not in This World or in the Next

I see before me faces of sacred texts. —Rabbi Kami Knapp Schechter

Brother, dusk came on,

sky dimmed its screen

of light. You were visiting

for three days, three nights,

entering the rhythms

of our house.

Your niece and nephew launched

into arms, raced through grass.

Such heart-stopping green, visible

only in early spring,

before branches fill in, dip down.

I was pregnant again,

drowsy in a lawn chair.

The children were finally in bed

and I coveted sleep, rose

to leave. But you touched my arm,

asked, What’s the rush?

Like a chord

I’d never heard.

There’s a prayer on leaving

the study of text, a tractate or psalm,

Hadran Alakh.

We will return to you,

you will return to us.

It’s never complete, this learning

what’s sacred.

That night I stayed with you,

gazing at unfinished projects:

chipped stone path

that needed replacing,

rusty slide, patch of weeds

strewn with balls and bikes.

I sighed. You laughed, coughed.

Coughed again,

said you were glad

I seemed content.

We will not forget,

you will not forget us.

The lawn dulled

as blue seeped down

from sky, which dimmed.

I can’t remember all we said

in those blue hours.

But we snickered

and sighed, as if still

in the world of our childhood.

Not in This World or in the Next

Leave a Reply Cancel reply

Related Rituals

Thanksgiving

A Prayer for Losing a Friend Too Soon

Swelling Grief

Get the latest from Ritualwell in your inbox

The Reconstructionist Network

Read & Rite

Havaya Summer Programs

Reconstructionist Rabbinical Association

Placement Office

Reconstructionist Educators of North America

Bring the Jewish Practice of Gratitude to Your Thanksgiving

Get the latest from Ritualwell