rain licks its
in my floor are
an old man
and his new cane.
in the black maw
of a half dreamt
alarm blurs and
when i wake.
death fasts in the sun
and onePillbox | September 19, 2022
one poem from Jen, another from Dylan
to my grandmothers, who I hope never read this (a sestina variation)
By Jennifer Bortner
whenever I see candles, I am your little one again
holding hands in a synagogue of blue velvet
I’m wearing red ribbon pigtails and sequins
at the altar, a man cuts golden bread with sharp silver
and raises a rusted glass lined with gibberish
I am not good at being JewishPillbox | May 2, 2022
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