The Good Words Don't Burn

In Years Hence Avigayil Rosensweig They thunder down the street, all lean and erudite. Barking laughter bears teeth almost carnivorous; they hunger for wisdom. But there is too much energy in their step, the hair too black on their heads. They catch it, instead, as it emanates from him, swirls around his presence like fireflies— which they enfold in their palms, store inside their selves. In later years to reach in, scoop out, faces soft with nostalgia and the luminescence cupped inside their hands, delighted how bright it still glows. They will reminisce to children or students, Running a hand through thinning hair: “My rebbi once said…” (Once, I knew a great man) When he speaks, they fall silent. Thirty-five folding chairs scrape across the floor, a chisel mark in the soft grain of memory. When they pray, their voices, deep-throated, rumble through the house up to the rooftop, except in some parts— Only one boy says ka...

Six Haikus Avigayil Rosensweig Snow Past Dark Half moon window dark Snow sleets unseen except in penumbra of lamp The Plain Meaning Hand strokes beard, wool-white "They said, ' but the plain meaning.' For ' and ' I would stay." Central Park Statue Squirrel stiff on park bench Eye like glass, muscles quiver Startled--leaps--scampers Lu'lei D'mistifina "I would disagree Did I not tremble to dare" And then he argued Dust Storm Sand settles on cars We draw pictures on windows Clear grit with fingers Not Enough One sound words they are short not hard to work with but do not quite say en--   

Spring Comes Late Avigayil Rosensweig Here's to boys playing Settlers of Catan On Shabbos afternoon The first scruff of manhood on their chins Who flick dice with intensity Build settlements of miniature wood Their land, to grow and defend Small enough to be encircled By two thumbs and an index finger The world yawns outside A gaping, lurking wonder Within these cardboard edges Four brick are traded for grain And to girls walking in pairs Eyelids glittering with day-old makeup Skirts swirl around their knees Hair drifts against shoulder blades As they stride, languid with the fullness of youth Air sweet with the promise of honeysuckle Voices perfume the air with eager thoughts The trees, still bare, raise their arms To a pale sky The girls' hands flutter like leaves The afternoons long Middays golden and evenings blustery The earth thawing, the sky blue-white Green shoots latent beneath dirt Furled buds swell on vines Everything teetering, on edg...

I Don't Want to go to the River Avigayil Rosensweig I don't want to go to the the river, mother. It's too far and I'm tired and I have homework and I told my friends we'd hang out also there are cisterns in case of siege and I hear in Jerusalem Hezekiah built a tunnel it takes water straight into the city and I don't want to.

Mother’s Day Avigayil Rosensweig Although, in stories, so often, I write About baseball and Talmud— Hammering out the same themes until the center wears thin; I blame The Chosen And my childhood: Too many afternoons with scorching strands of grass underfoot, Clods of spongey gravel spraying the field, Too many evenings watching pages turn in heavy bound books To the familiar drone of unfamiliar words —You said to me, once, Eyebrows raised, “We are more alike than you care to admit,” And I wondered if I’d ever denied it. If I only had the words—

Wood Glue Avigayil Rosensweig Opacity congeals translucent Caught in an eternal drip Down the side of a dining room chair Like a tear, still shedding Over crooked slats drenched in dry glue Unstable limbs overturned onto newspaper The glue pools over yesterday’s news Distorts its reporting

After All Avigayil Rosensweig I’m sure every family has one Some precious heirloom Passed hand to hand With cautious fingers And a hissed warning—careful! Some priceless legacy Burnt with the bread before Passover Crumbled to ash in a Lag Ba’omer bonfire Humans are such careless beings, after all

The Youngest Grave in Warsaw Avigayil Rosensweig Verdant clumps cling to rough stone Leeching life From its cracked gray skin Overfill grooves Which summarize a life Incongruous lushness In the settlement of the dead Tombstone rising slantwise out of dirt As though pushed from beneath To feel the brisk winds Weather-beaten, mottled gray Edges lined with sunlight Bearded with moss Words spongey with greenness * פ"נ אשה צנועה חשובה ועשתה צדקה וחסד מ' טאבא מלכה פערל ב"ר שמשון א"ר שמשון הלוי וואקסמאן נפטרה כ' חשון ת"ש ת נ צ ב ה Here lies A modest woman of note Who acted with charity and kindness Toba Malka Perel Daughter of R’ Shimshon Wife of R’ Shimshon HaLevi Waxman Deceased 20th of Cheshvan 5700 *                      November 2, 1939 ...