I’m searching for words
to describe this year,
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language spacious enough
to encircle, enfold
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all we’ve seen,
feared and loved,
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lost and learned, all
we’ve changed.
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I’m sifting through blessings,
too many to choose from:
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good health, beriut,
wisdom, da’at,
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tikvah, hope
when the house is so quiet
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I must remind it
to breathe. It’s not alone.
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Letters arrive, children’s drawings
and poems, gatherings on Zoom.
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Zoom funerals.
The house, porous vessel,
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fills with tears.
But there are stirrings.
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Robins and pigeons, another
word for doves, hover
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on branches, not yet
green. They sing
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flight calls, stories of their long journeys
and return. So I,
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thin-skinned, porous vessel,
will wash myself in gratitude
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and sing modah ani
in this complicated moment,
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grateful for waking,
for my soul.