• Archive


  • The Arithmetic of Death

    The arithmetic of death Is made up of straight lines And hard numbers. Three. One hundred eighty six. Two hundred nineteen. Might as well be Six million. Lives subtracted – Their numbers carried In harsh columns, Where they multiply; A geometric progression Of loss And...
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  • The holiness of silence

    I remember the silence of the desert. I entered those wild lands of heat and cracked earth and wind that twisted everything it kissed. My shadow danced, a stumbling gait on the solitary plains and morphing hills that rose and sank and shimmered under a...
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  • Sanctuary

    I counted out the measures In cubits and inches and baskets of grain And made a sanctuary From a field of grass And cornflowers, And it was pleasing to behold, And silent. Beyond those borders, Beyond the altars and their Sacred, silent beauty, Lay the...
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  • Neverwhen

    There is something thrilling and hesitant and slightly off-centered tender in the act of saying: I know you; at least, I think I do. I think my heart has met yours before, on some excursion into the neverwhen and everywhere. There is some sign, some...
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  • Night of fire and glass

    In honor of Yom HaShoah Holocaust Remembrance Day Stars littered the ground Crystal fire Shards of ice Glass The smoke of a thousand thousand years Ascended Coiling upwards, twisted With the memory of a People Chosen once in light Chosen again In darkness In ashes...
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  • Seasonally challenged

    I drove home with the windows rolled down today.  I even complained that the sun was way too bright.  When I got home, I turned off the heat and threw open the windows.  Well, a window, at least. Dangerous.  There is definite danger here, in all this sun and warmth.  There is...
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  • Permission

    “You have my permission,” he said, “to write about the thing that scares you most. Seven hundred fifty words.  Go.” Yeah, right.  As if I need permission.  Ha.  I can write about anything.  Don’t need anyone to tell me what or when to write.  Anything I want. ...
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  • A matter of faith and monkey bars

    I am stuck. Really, really, really stuck. The cemented-in-place kind of stuck. You know – the kind of motionlessness that you used to get when you were a kid, sinking low in your seat when your teacher asked a question, laser eyes searching through the sea...
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  • The Texture of shadows

    We danced, My brother and I, a twisted tango of love and hate. He cast such shadows long and textured, big enough to hide in. Thief, Liar and thief– You stole my parents And I loved you– Would have died for you, Given it all...
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