What hurt most was the lack of recognition / when I bumped into myself last night; / I surfaced by the river / in no light, / and asked myself my name, / old fool that I am - - / till it hit me, by (of all things) / pulling at my leg.
I know it’s autumn because the yearly Torah reading cycle is back at Genesis, with all of the complex internecine business – Betrayal! Sex! Murder! – that being human, even the kind that talks to God, seems to brings with it. It’s the time of year I like to bring out my biblical poetry (every girl needs some in her repertoire, no?) and post it for the four or six people who appreciate it. Speci[...]
There is a familiar pit in my stomach that tells me I must put something down on paper. So to speak. It's a pit that reminds me of other pits, that makes me 16 again, and 26, all the years joined by a common physiological sense of being carried by an idea or a feeling, literally hungry for something to write. Medical science will tell you that the pit is the work of the vagus nerve in my abdomen, which[...]