I’m salting the sky with haskiveinu,
seeking wings of protection, words we murmur
before sleep. But I whisper it throughout the day,
hashkiveinu for the six-year-olds in class
who attack each other if “disrespected”,
the smallest strike first. How do we shelter them?
One child went missing for days
and was found across town searching for an aunt,
for food and comfort. One child
brought his father’s box of bullets to school,
just spilled them on the floor. We swept up
these sharp warnings. Hashkiveinu!
Let the sky swirl with wings,
not weapons. I’ve been warned
not to touch my students,
but often grasp the hand of an anxious child
and lead her to a corner, where we sit
and draw mythical creatures, some with wings.
Watercolor by the poet.
Join Cathleen Cohen for an upcoming immersion, Honoring Loved Ones in Writing & Art
