I forgot the sound of Grandpa’s voice, but not the rattle of the farm truck
I forgot the names of the workers, who smiled so broadly when he brought envelopes filled with money.
I forgot how to tie a fishing knot, but not the taste of the fried fish
I forgot the floorplan of the yellow house, but not the sadness that consumed it
I forgot about the stuff that I hid in the crawl space when we moved
I forgot most of the math after 10th grade, who needs SOHCAHTOA anyway?
I forgot my freshman locker combination, but not the rank smell of a high school locker room.
I also forgot the love that I once felt
because I’m sure that she’s forgotten me

I remember screamed profanities
I remember slammed doors and cupboards
I remember walking on eggshells, slipping silently around the house, not flushing the toilet - hoping to remain unnoticed.
I remember strained car rides and feigned happiness - for the relatives' sake.
I remember the blessed gift of headphones - that drowned out the rage and replaced it with joyful music.

I remember hiding behind schoolwork
I remember 5:00 AM Saturdays, doing yardwork, to keep the peace.
I remember racing through dinners, eyes down
Being done before being done

I remember strained birthdays
Unappreciated gifts
Forced gratitude

I remember graduating
Boarding a plane
And never really going back.

The 8 Days of Hanukkah

On the first day of Hanukkah, my rabbi gave to me - A Torah portion that I can't read.

On the second day of Hanukkah, my rabbi gave to me - Two loaded bagels and a Torah portion that I can't read.

On the third day of Hanukkah, my rabbi gave to me - Three spinning dreidls, two loaded bagels, and a Torah portion that I can't read.

On the fourth day of Hanukkah, my rabbi gave to me - Four Shabbos goyim, three spinning dreidls, two loaded bagels, and a Torah portion that I can't read.

On the fifth day of Hanukkah, my rabbi gave to me - FIVE Maccabeats, four Shabbos goyim, three spinning dreidls, two loaded bagels, and a Torah portion that I can't read.

On the sixth day of Hanukkah, my rabbi gave to me - Six mohels brissing, FIVE Maccabeats, four Shabbos goyim, three spinning dreidls, two loaded bagels, and a Torah portion that I can't read.

On the seventh day of Hanukkah, my rabbi gave to me - Seven Jews a-kvetching, six mohels brissing, FIVE Maccabeats, four Shabbos goyim, three spinning dreidls, two loaded bagels, and a Torah portion that I can't read.

On the eighth day of Hanukkah, my rabbi gave to me - 8 burning candles, seven Jews a-kvetching, six mohels brissing, FIVE Maccabeats, four Shabbos goyim, three spinning dreidls, two loaded bagels, and a Torah portion that I can't read.....

What do you think?

It had to end this way.
Sorry about the mess.

His eyes fix on a single line
A familiar signature
Screams from the page
The End

Of a marriage
of a family
of a 20 year love affair

A rivulet penetrates the surface,
sustaining a desiccating thing.

A slanted ray
awakens a dormant seed.

A dropped morsel
nourishes a starving creature.

None is significant

Each is
A whispered hope

Before he was here
He would have said, "bereft of feeling,"
Now he says TBI

Before he was here,
Overwatch was a game.
Now it keeps him and others alive

Before he was here
He was a conscientious vegan.
Now he's an omnivore,
Devouring vacuum sealed inorganic meat byproducts.
With vigor

Before he was here
Musty was the damp basement smell-- endearing, familiar
Now it's the infection smell -- nauseating, familiar

Before he was here,
There was good and evil,
Now there are only shades of evil

Before he was here
She was there,
Always.
Now she is gone,
Forever.

Before he was here
Death was distant, clinical
Now it's cloying, visceral

He doesn't know if he'll be able
To return to the time before here
He doubts it.