And on this Pesach, may the mouth speak light.
While matza crumbs dance / across the crisp table-cloth
Of course it’s possible I’m crazy. / It’s also possible that sanity / Is what is killing us.
My dreams – strangled, my hopes – trampled / ensnared in shadows.
So if you merit to parent a challenging child / Do not despair if his nature seems wild.
How can I refuse to act / when their existence hangs / like an autumn leaf on an oak?
An interview conducted in poetic verse? It could only be a discussion about the latest edition of The Deronda Review poetry journal.
For years the mitzvas weren’t mine.
The fact that so many people don’t even see the use of poetry any more should be seen as a danger sign, no less than global warming.
We’ll be delivered / It will appear out of nowhere / Like the yona