I once told a woman

just after meeting her

that dark days made me sad,

how I found winter hard.

Confidently she said

that I had S.A.D,
a seasonal disorder.
I said I didn’t think so.

She told me she was sure;

another stone eyed blind date
I had just picked up
in a pre-Uber cab.

Quickly her tone made me

cold and  lonely in a way

an affective illness

could never compete with.

Turtles

Today I am procrastinating
some things by doing others
and a lot of the other things
include writing, like here, now
Somehow I convince myself
that writing in a new place is
somehow better, and safer
than the place I've run from.
So I'm hiding from Facebook
here on my poetry blog, where
I hide from my regular blog,
bemoaning the reality that
I'm followed wherever I go
by the spirals of my fears.

I am a
contradictory
combination
repeatedly
wanting to
be seen
yet preferring
to hide
This in part
explains why
I like stand up
and orating
because I speak
to a crowd
and to no one
in particular
It's what I'm
doing right now
Sitting here
half dressed
writing to
an unknown you
feeling like
I'm alone
while on view
to the world.

What stands between
me and me is me
And when I run away
I am there to greet me
So I wonder how much
an outsider can help
But I also have a feeling
that me and me need help
because we're too close
to our issue to be able to
solve it without help from
someone who isn't us.

Now Me

Who will listen to me
the way I listen to others
just letting them be
listening not to answer
not to solve or fix
not even to understand
but so that they can be
with another human being
say their words or not
seethe in their pain or not
one way or another
whatever way is their's
at that moment
let them be and share
Maybe no-one will
do that for me
at least not right now
So I guess it has to be me
who is there for the one
it's hardest for me
to be there for now
I have to be a wise friend
for the most difficult one
to be kind to sometimes
challenging even to tolerate
but just writing this
has calmed me down a notch
and reminded me that  I can be there
even for myself.

When I was a starry eyed
undergrad rabbi wannabe
Mel Taubman pointed at his siddur
as we stood in the Shul's back row
and put me on the spot
asking, "How can I say this as true,
that G-d brings the dead back to life?"
I told him that just like we sleep
and wake up in the morning
so too the dead will be revived
though I really had no idea
I just knew the right line to say
But today I have a clue
and I feel it in my bones
because I've seen it with my life
it's a game of hide and seek that
the so called dead play with us
no, G-d doesn't bring them back
because he never let them die.

Ten Months Ago Dad Moved Forward Into Another Life Stage (Not For the First Time) and Nothing Is The Same

It's not the first time his moving
into a new stage was hard;
when he moved into the world of
being a senior senior it was difficult
and different than all that had come before.
But then he was still here in
a somewhat similar way to before.
He'd ask me questions, he'd tell me things,
and I heard him, and his presence
was pervasive in my life.
Now he's stepped back in a way
he never did before, and it is my sense
of his absence that is pervasive.

THEY

Amongst ourselves
we share defenses
shouting, strutting
tensely announcing
about the others
not thinking twice
as we speak of them
billions of people