Type: Poem

“I will teach you the melody of my Echa, together we will sit on the ground and mourn for the peace of Jerusalem.”

also how dare I use such an antiquated, male-sprung, / power-overed, trite & treacly term? And I agree, yes, / how dare, how dare I? Well, I answer, I do. Dare.

I walk the trail back to its origins / towards the slow pulse of life / flowing within contorted trunks / honey-colored limbs scarred by lightning

The power to bless is the power / to choose.

You offered to walk with me around Queen Anne Hill, holding my hand / You offered to take me out again. / What was the meaning of these offerings? /

“Did they praise / the G-d that brought about their / most brutal response to devastation? / Or did they lament?”

“For every grain of salt, a thousand tears…”

“Count instead the growing number of cared-fors you have lost…”

“I almost giggle when I find myself whispering / a long-forgotten prayer.”

Don’t fret about terms, / she croons. / Just watch the squirrels