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Batya Jun 2014
Sometimes in life, a preference
Is but the lesser of two evils,
Like choosing ***** or Gemorah;
And sometimes it is a sacrifice,
As palpable as Abraham and Isaac's.
Sometimes choosing means
Standing by the roadside
With your thumb straight out,
Your heart a wide open chasm
To swallow the sinner in you whole,
And blank eyes screaming "I don't know".
Sometimes you're a Tamar,
And people, bless their hearts,
Think you're a Sara or Rebecca
And you just feel like a big ol' Delilah.
Sometimes your face feels like the Red Sea,
Only the dry land is wet with snot,
And sometimes despite it all,
You raise your hands up in the air
And the sun stands still
In the valley of Refaim or Aijalon.
Sometimes your Temple burns,
You realize your body is the loot
And you barely recognize the ornaments.
But even when you're exiled
In the solitude of your own mind,
There remains the promise of redemption,
And whether Messianic or romantic,
You must have faith in the intervention
That will guide you towards the future from Isaiah.
Cindy Baldwin Jan 2020
We are ragged at every corner,
Languid and worn through
Like something made of
Unending heat -
The stuff of legend.
Burn bright, bright -
Our breath returning
And committed to flame,
Memorizing ash and smoke.
We are encased in our history,
Kneeling in earth
And the sky forming above us -
Pressing stories into our skin.
Burning and haunted,
We belong here in between words -
Bitten back and swallowed whole,
And I know the curve of your spine
Like the back of my own hand.
We are blood-sealed -
Still water underneath
The wave that leaves us wrecked,
And you are something else entirely -
A new religion,
Pillars of bone and soul,
The first word and the first sigh -
Love me.
We are spiraling across raw desert,
No urgency of force,
And I am sea-deep
And burning at your side,
Drifting in that quiet catch
Between breaths -
The sun and the moon standing still
Over Gibeon and Aijalon.
What builds will also tear down,
And we dream-walk toward the edge -
Marked, changed,
Primitive nerves - nocturnal creatures,
The weight of worlds,
And it goes on.
We are lost, but not blind,
And even here,
We'll stand our ground.

— The End —