Poetry

Point my poles, propel me More than partly. I’m practically plainly
Planted in a place that is particularly purposeful.

The airlock opens with a muffled hiss.
You slide down the visor ̶ grab the lifeline.

Where for art thou son?
Don’t you with joy come to meet
Me, run to Me when you see Me from afar?
I miss thee here, what absents thee, or what chance detains?
…Come forth!

Why didn’t I shoot as far?
High but still under stars
Stars…embers of others who flew?
Scars…etchings of decisions I once knew?

Enter in simply enough, On all fours lower than the brush

Footprints follow this new family
Formed fastidiously.
Whooshing winds and weaving waves white
Crash and crescendo on bulwark blackened boulders

These poems were writing as part of the final project for my graduate school class Introduction to Professional Writing. The final project was a mix of archival and primary research and a creative portion related to the topic of the project. The poems were attached to a faux “letter to the editor” that was directed to an Atlanta area Jewish publication called The Southern Israelite which was circulating under that name until 1987 until it became the Atlanta Jewish Times. These poems were part the “creative” portion of the final project and the poems were written in a style similar to a frequent contributor in the Southern Israelite, Evelyn (or Eve) Epstein

Mom used to wind it when the bars hung low
-insisted on having it in all our homes.

It tolls every hour, at every temporal change
has marked every part of our lives, at every stage.

Haphazard hairs and lost lashes
Tumbleweeds of dust roll passed

she combs her fingers through then
            stops
says something in her native tongue
           plucks