forgiveness

what does forgiveness sound like?

does it sound like a sigh?

(mint-scented by nicorette)

a letting-go of all of the resentment and hurt

with the slow release of my breath?

 

does it look like lips trembling? hands shaking?

maybe it's okay, then, that i can't keep my hands steady...

perhaps it just looks like i'm moving on

(maybe it's the withdrawal)

perhaps i don't need to keep my voice from faltering

 

does forgiveness look like a new wardrobe? 

am i still allowed to keep my favourite shirt?

the one patched and mended countless times

deep cleaned of stains, falling apart at the seams, 

old enough that i know you've touched it. 

 

i wish i could tear it apart

threadbare, so thin it's see-through

ripping through it would be so easy

but i know i’d never let myself

 

oh, god, oh, my god, 

please, lord, have mercy have mercy,

give peace to your servant,

grant me rest and comfort just this once

and i will be faithful all the days of my life

 

faithful was i never when i was with him

promises broken and hopes mocked

wandering my eyes and faltering my heart

not for a single night was he enough for me

does forgiveness look like an apology?

could it take the form of tear-stained cheeks

red with the burning of resentment and regret

indignation always preceding penitence

must i apologize? self righteous as i am 

must i forgive? must i move on

let loose the millstone from my neck

swim to the surface and breathe

forgiveness must look like this, then

prozac and my sponsor my closest friends

but i’ll make some new friends

who’ll dance the twelve-step at my wake

rebuild my life from the rubble i left

resurrect the boy i used to be from the grave

the pile of old CDs and torn band t-shirts

shuddering

 i shudder.

 

between prudence and slivowitz there was no contest

after twenty-seven hot, dry summers i'm still tasked 

to walk this earth for weeks or even months to come

and so i must make my life liveable

nightmares

i don't remember now the faces or the names

of all the people who have touched me--

tutors, teachers, pastors, fellows--

all those who've altered the flow of my life

and helped me to grow

 

but those which stick with me now-- 

those i wish i could forget-- 

i pray to god i never see again

(i pray for very little these days

but mercy, sweet mercy, from above) 

 

i split, we crumble,

the faces are gone for a moment

the memories inaccessible

just for a little while

and i am no longer in control 

 

but once my head hits the pillow

our eyes finally shut for another night

of elbow-pinching awkward sleep

i will still tingle and sting the next day

i am forced to relive it

 

i cense my bedroom, the whole apartment

cover each and every room with holy water

recite spells i hope will dispel

the stomach-turning days and nights

i cannot escape from in my sleep 

so this is goodbye

i can't get rid of you

even as i scour the pan in the sink you're there

telling me how i shouldn't use the steel wool

 

not little loved, the notes you left me

the drawings and poetry and ten-page letters

i got each time i left

 

old cigarettes crumbled into the pile

patch on my arm 

bruises on my legs 

 

i’ll bury the ashes in my backyard

the smoke censes my entire body - this body, 

one you have never touched

s.

i wasn’t expecting you to answer

when i knocked on your door.

but you do, and you smile at me,

and you shake my hand.

the skin of your hands, once-lover,

eczema-red and rough, are just as i remember.

but you speak nothing of the past.

i accept a cigarette, and you would walk with me.

after all these years, though, i still think of you.

i remember, once-lover, how you held me;

the roughness of your hands on my cheek and ribcage.

how you bought me flowers. i kept all of them.

once you would hold my neck and kiss me

like there was nothing else you could think of.

i held you deep inside me, anxious, vulnerable;

you kissed me with my taste rich on your tongue.

but that love is gone, and no longer

do i hold onto anything of yours.

i shall let you go, once-lover,

and bid you farewell with a handshake.

body

gaze upon the frame of my body

the shoulders whose breadth i cannot hide

my jawline, soft as it is, protruding

unadorned with hair but suspect nonetheless

ribs keep me locked away in a cage

constrained as i am by my own body

i cannot live as the woman i want to

"but my mind holds the key"

on the bus ride home my ears are full

of the sound of oscillating bone saws, 

burring, bossing, cunty contouring--

perhaps, this will make me whole?

seeker

for the sake of unity of the Holy One, blessed be He, with His Shechina.

were we always a monolatrous people? were we forever faithful?

for surely, the children of judah remember their altars,

and the trees sacred unto asherah, as jeremiah lamented. [1]

king josiah tore down the houses of the kedeishim, burned the asherah,

and cleansed jerusalem's holy temple of baʿal-worship. [2]

today what is left of the priestesses? where are the kedeishim?

their names have all been erased, and their devotees are no more. [3]

today we may imagine asherah's batim as tefillin of avoda-zaros woven [4]

outside the bedrooms of the polyamorous neopagan kedeishos of ʿishtar.

but these are not the baʿalim or asherim of our ancestors.

the avoda zara of yesteryear is now forever lost to us.

the zohar reveals that the hei in hashem's name is called asherah [5]

this is the holy Shechina; she has always been here.

the sin of our ancestors was to separate these divine aspects into idols.

blessed is the one trusts in the L-rd, whose trust is only in the L-rd. [6]

admired

i gaze into your eyes and at once i am transfixed with you

your soft lips are strawberry and rosé and i cannot get enough of it

i run my hands down your warm body and plant my mouth on your skin

you smell of agarwood and roses and i taste moscato on your neck

you pull me closer and dig your nails into my back (!)

i sharply inhale to a rush of adrenaline and sigh out a flood of endorphins

you then call me 'princess' and i just melt into you—

i believe this is what a biochemist would call "love"

adored

the sun glints on clean, shining snow today,

over fifteen centimetres from just the night before,

and the shimmer draws my gaze and i glance down

i notice i am walking into your fresh footprints now

my heart beats through my ribcage as you stare at me

i try to ignore it but you draw me in and now i can't look away

i feel almost choked trying to fill the gaps with words but

your saccharine kiss politely shuts me up

in your room you pull me in by the hip, right up against you

i am yours for this one pure and unending moment in time

your amaretto breath on my neck and warm fingertips on my collarbone—

i am sure that you could persuade me to stay the night...

come back to me

i cry when you tell me you love me.

the warm, gentle sweetness of your skin

welcomes me as though i have never harmed you

as though i have never done anything wrong at all.

i shake out my bedsheets and find toothpicks falling out.

they make me smile. they remind me i'm not alone.

you get home from work and leave your bag by the door

and your sweatshirt on the chair in my bedroom

you come back to me - and i to you

in the heat of the summer this year.

on cote-ste-catherine this year you almost kiss me

and i saw everything good in your eyes.

labour day in new york

this week the city heats to a boiling point

and young women melt on the southbound A train

a breeze pushes me eastward on 74th street that day

spite and heedless persistence carry me downstairs

the sun is at its peak and i re-enter the subway station

caroline and i explore the city, if only for the afternoon

i take the overnight bus home, only stopping at the border.

i cannot sleep more than a moment but i am finally at rest.

my alarm wakes me with the sun, mere minutes after falling asleep.

i give thanks. i wash my hands, right-left-right-left-right-left, and get out of bed.

the ache in my leg is barely dulled and i wince while pulling my pants on.

i check my bedsheets and seeing a new stain i instinctively laugh at it.

the air in my room is dead and stale.

in the mirror i splash cold water on my face until i can tell who's looking back at me.

i take a stimulant and a cup of coffee for breakfast.

from my lips i let out ancient words, automatic as though i am a machine

built for the sole purpose of singing Your praises and working a dead-end job

i bind Your law upon my arm and upon my head and i mumble to myself

only partially considering the meaning of the tones i produce

then i check the time and head for the door.

in the dark hours of the night i wait for you

only gone a moment, of course, from me

in discomfort i turn over in my sheets

dead air fills my bedroom, nowhere to go

the evening offers little respite from the thick summer heat

it is then i realize you were never here at all

you were, of course, gone before i woke,

gone before my head had ever hit the pillow.

when i dream of you it is so real.

for a moment you are actually in my bed, and then it's gone.

at night my mind is a chilled basement apartment, dark and distant from the streetlights

drips from the ceiling, corners soaked with pyrethroids, intermittent stench of mildew

floors covered in dead pillbugs and winged ants who tried to crawl their way to safety

but paralyzed once the toxins reach their bloodstream, dying in clusters by my doorway

untitled, pt. 2

once i decided to skip town that was it, my mind was set

i thought if i changed my place i could change my luck

took my things from your apartment, booked a rideshare

and went away to a city i knew where i would stick

there's still times now when i feel like running away

when things have gone wrong or started to feel stagnant

my reflex is to daydream about leaving everything behind

think about meeting different people, seeing new places

but this isn't what i want. i built something for myself here

through all the loneliness and countless apartments

i finally feel like i'm where i want to be, and who i want to be

and that's not worth giving up for an escapist fantasy

old things

used up cartridges of printer ink

empty film canisters storing old things

my audio jack, finicky once wet with snow

i twist the cable trying to get the sound back

i hear a girl crying in a bathroom stall

being broken up with on the phone

he hangs up and she calls back frantically

begging for an answer to "what did i do?"

the battery of my secondhand tablet

is running out much quicker these days

i get frustrated, my study interrupted

and in that moment i hate technology everything

my cell phone's cover screen cracked

sometime when i worked at the library

i've thought about getting it fixed

but i'm just not invested enough

cellphone contacts

"what is it that your therapist said?
"you're 'making mountains out of molehills' again?"
well, yes, maybe i am making problems
or at least blowing them out of proportion
(maybe i'm even being a little dramatic)

but i think that's warranted in this situation
i find myself housed (!) with a good support network (!)
and yet flip through my cellphone contacts late at night
when i need someone to talk to and come up blank
finding nobody i can call

i realize i am covered in snow
from sitting in the park by beis rivka
i hopped the fence into the baseball diamond
meandered northward and lay down in the middle
with a foot of snow as my pillow

and yes maybe it is concerning that
your voice is the one in my head right now
"rationalizing" me after all these years
but you know me i've always needed a bit of antagonism
always loved a healthy dose of masochism

as i begin to head home to warm up
stumbling just a little, typing on my ipod
only now noticing the dampness in my left shoe
which i know was never meant for this weather—
just below freezing, perfect for drinking in the park—

i feel a compulsion now (why now?)
i need to write i need to write i need to write
i need to get this out onto some paper or somewhere else
it's bad enough that he's in my head
i don't need you here too!!!

rosemary brown park in february

i stop and sit and smoke in the park by my house on sunday
the packed snow brings my feet up high, close to the bench, and i rest on my knees
and i stare across at mclynn and this t-rex spring rider stares back
i stay there in the cold for what felt like hours (probably closer to 20 minutes.)

i go home and get nothing done and i cancel my plans. everyone is in a bad mood.
and i decide to shovel your driveway and clean up your bedroom for you
knowing the less you have to do the more time i get to spend with you
the two of us sit in my bedroom and play mario kart. it cheers you up.

monday you apologize for treating me like we're dating.
you call to invite me over when you're going to bed just to see me
and we talk about the future. what we want. i know i can cope if it doesn't turn out my way 
but right now my feelings are strong and all-encompassing.

when i write like this i want the last paragraph to be some kind of wrap-up, 
a conclusion of the message i'm conveying, a sense of closure in the lines
i'll restate my points, contextualize them—i'll give meaning to my experiences—
but i don't know how i'm supposed to do that right now.

i cannot describe or understand the person i am anymore without yearning
not as a romantic ideal or an abstract concept but as an actual physical hole in me.
i'm stuck with this lingering sense that something is missing, that there is something i lack
but i don't even know what that might be or where i should go looking for it
and so i turn inside myself and try to refine the person that i am
i no longer feel my past chase and weigh me down but i worry about the future
recognizing the mistakes i have made has made me a better person
but
nothing i can do right now will get me what i want
i turn inside myself and i daven to G-d that everything will turn out alright
i close my eyes and recite the ancient words which for a moment keep me together
i stand and i shuckle until the kesher of my shel rosh gets tangled in my ponytail
and so when i remove it my hair is frizzy and sticks up in all directions
like bedhead, as though i was making love to the aibeshter. (a sick sense of prayer.)

and even in this moment i have a twisted idea of intimacy
i'm reminded of the mere concept and instinctively shut it down.

nothing i can do right now will get me what i want
in my head i imagine i can focus on my studies and drown everything else out
but then i take an extra vyvanse and just stare at my computer screen for hours
i am not capable of focusing let alone drowning out what calls to me
in my free time i daydream about what our apartment might look like
as though us being in a relationship once again is already a given
i get distracted looking at apartments. i scroll through marketplace for hours
i fantasize about running away sometimes. a lot of the time, actually. 
but
nothing i can do right now will get me what i want
and right now i'm working on accepting that.

holding on

what a thing to intertwine your life with another person

when i miss you, i forget about all the problems we had

i still find pieces of toothpicks around my apartment

and for a moment it actually makes me happy