We wait at the same stop.
It's pouring, and we join the huddle of people
Keeping dry under the cold metal.
I expect her to get on one of the Arab bus lines,
Because she's an Arab.
That was racist and I smile to myself when
She gets on the 74 with me.
We end up jammed in the middle, standing face to face
In a sea of human waves, getting on, off, hustling.
There is an Ethiopian lady next to us with a baby strapped to her back.
I think the girl is wistful. I wonder if she's wondering about her future, like me.
Her makeup is better done than mine is and she looks sad.
I wonder what secrets lie beneath her elegantly obscured body.
I remember when I was Orthodox- we were parallel lines.
I sneak a look at her hijab. I wonder if she looks at my hair.
I notice two rings, a diamond and a gold, on her left hand.
She follows my gaze, twitches her fingers nervously and moves her hand.
I wonder how he treats her. Is she afraid of him? Is she sad?
She looks sad. I want to ask her what's wrong.
Does she speak Hebrew? Maybe. Probably not. Maybe.
I want to at least meet her eyes and smile,
So she knows someone noticed,
But my eyes flit and dart away every time I try,
And all I can see is the hate that's been wedged between us since the 20's.
She can't be much older than me, I think as she takes out an Iphone
In a bright pink case, a twin to the one I'd checked in its turquoise case
About 30 seconds ago. We get off at the same stop.
She waits for a transfer and I start walking to school.
I will never see her again, but I hope that maybe our future daughters
Will be able to smile at each other on a crowded bus, and maybe even be friends.

I want to spend rainy Saturday mornings with you
On my couch underneath the blankets we just slept in
Sipping freshly brewed coffee, the vapors wafting over you skin
Leaning our heads against the couch
Looking into each others eyes using only the light of the lamp
Finding beauty in messy hair
As we do everything we possibly can
To leave the world
For a moment
Let's take down the clocks

You never say a word
As I stroke your skin,
Tracing the veins along your arm -
Just watch my fingers
Traveling the road map of the blood
That courses through your body.
I have tried so many times
To find a different path
Discover a detour
But I have only found a common route -
Whatever vein I choose,
It leads to your open hand, outstretched
The only place I feel at home.

The inner storm,
The calamity within...
The rumble,
The bang,
The drop of a pin.
The ringing in my ears,
That never would stop.
The boiling,
The melting,
The breakdown,
The pop.

A break in the clouds,
Let in rays of sunlight.
A new sense of normal,
Where all wrongs seem so right.

I have a fear of the future
and of dollars
and of living without knowing what makes me happy
because dollars are so far comfortable
yet sinful, lazy, and sad
They breed spiteful, poisoned fathers,
rebellious and emulative brothers,
impulsive, confounding sisters,
broken (though hopeful) mothers,
and boys who all too often waste their time
in an unrelenting expansion of perspective
Not only are you trapped in what you Know
you can't Forget
I am either Narcissus
or anchored in the Know

God made the perfect creation when he made women
So elegant, charming with their smiles
With the compassion and the ability to love
Even when they frown.
Adam and Eve, two seeds birthed by the hands of God
That started this all, Eve bared the forbidden bear fruit in which she knew
Was wrong, she asked Adam to take part, because she didn’t want to be alone.
Two people made to be together till death do they part
This, is the art… of a woman

When men are alone all we think about is women, why is that?
For a fact, we need and want the subjective progression, in which
Our fathers grew to love.
Why is it that men and women wear cologne and perfume?
We all hope to mate, to find somebody to fill that empty space
In our hearts.
God gave us humans the curse and blessing to love,
Someone other than ourselves

Why is it that women wear tight and fitting clothes?
To show off what Mother Nature blessed her, which is her curves.
She knows that you’re looking and wishing you could have her, but you can’t.
It’s just a tease in order to see if you talk and respect her for lady that she is.
Women are smarter than you think; they make us believe that everything is okay.
They’re strong, goal driven, and sometimes confusing at the most
Some have gorgeous eyes, some have tempting thighs, but we must not lose sight
Of whom they are
Were your protector, you’re our provider to bare a son or a daughter.

You deserve the utmost respect and love, to be treated like queens like you should.
Miss Cleopatra, rubies, diamonds, and gold
Those secrets you have in which were never told.
Behold the art, the astonishing gift God gave us to take care of.
The art, of women something so precious and so gentle.
Made for us men to think and use our mental, fabric of our minds
To straighten up our spines, to be kind and non-judgmental

In order for us to make this work, we must have faith in each other
To believe, and achieve the art of trust.
No luck, no spell, love... the emotion, the gift, so spiritual so bliss
We all want this; this is the art of a woman.