The Good Words Don't Burn

By Avigayil Finkelstein July 2026   Cannons make the heart A booming drum—and boom— The heart makes it canon.   An orchestra in silence Spellbinds the room Like leaves in the wind. It leaves Room to be spellbound. The silence is orchestral.

By Avigayil Finkelstein July 2026 Inspired by William Blakes “The Tyger.”   Human, Human, weak and pale Sinews slight and muscles frail Flesh unarmored, soft and slim Tripping on bipedal limbs   On those spindly legs, upright Stalking like a prince of night Curling every blunt-edged finger As if taloned paws did linger   Human, Human strange delight Bright like comets in the night Brief his tenure on this earth Outsized sorrow—outsized mirth

By Avigayil Finkelstein July 2026 Inspired by Nakahara in Sagami Province , from the series Thirty-six Views of Mount Fuji by Katsushika Hokusai [1] At rosy dawn And dusky eve Mt. Fuji kisses the thin band of the horizon.   [2] A basket balanced on my hand One hand to stabilize Mt. Fuji rests on the horizon.   [3] Minnows swim across my ankles Water laps at my calves Cool as the snow that sits on Mt. Fuji.   [4] The silt-speckled shore Is soft beneath my toes I rest in the shade of Mt. Fuji.   [5] A fan of green leaves A spray of yellow sand The sharp indigo wedge of Mt. Fuji.   [6] The top of a man’s head A square slice of panorama The snow-capped peak of Mt. Fuji.   [7] Sandaled feet cross wooden boards Backs turned from the sun Chins thrust forward to face Mt. Fuji.   [8] A mustache droops across his face A yoke curves across his shoulders The plains are flat at the foot...

By Avigayil Finkelstein July 2026   The plastic grass rustled in the field And the sky bled coral through the chain link fence Then watermelon pink, then midnight blue And in that streetlight haze The unfriendly whisperings of the evergreens All said that this was not the sun-soaked park Where bluebirds sang from a bright blue sky And wildflowers twined the pebble-dashed water fountain Here, every cornmaze twist and turn Of that tried and true bike path Led closer to the minotaur’s den

By Avigayil Finkelstein July 2026   It began with the breaking of chains. Was the sound of the falling shackles not The sweetest song of liberty? Best look away from the things on the pikes. Of brotherhood I sing, and the baying of crowds. Times are a-changing, and It is better to join the mob than meet its justice. Was this not what we always wanted? The liberty tree, its branches weighted with our foes: Worst of humanity, or at least, some Of them were. Best change with the Times or the times will change you.

 Avigayil F "I lived through the golden age," I'm afraid I will say one day. “I saw it split apart at the seams—" At first, it was beautiful: sunlight streaming through the perforations. We thought it gilded plate armor— Only moth-eaten cloth of gold.

Avigayil Finkelstein July 2025   “Hearken now to the words of the king,” Proclaim the criers in every province, town, and city. “You are hereby summoned to a feast Where the king’s generosity will flow as wine— In a nearby chamber, a banquet hosted by the queen. Only a fool would choose to stay home.”   On the seventh day, with revelers crowding the perfumed gardens of his home, While his mind marinates in meat and mead, an idea comes to the king, Who struts before his satraps and subjects to summon his queen And parade her, stripped bare, before his decadent capital city. The idea seems wise to a king soused with wine. He longs to see her tread where eyes may feast.   Some time since that fateful feast A young girl turns back for a final glimpse of home. For there is no undoing a decision doused in wine. The law knows no regret, even if you are king. The girl hides inside herself, far from her home in the capital city. Farther ...

 GOOD FORTUNE Good fortune lies Beyond this golden gate If the past is bittersweet as tealeaves The future is as fresh as new parchment, like an empty chalkboard, waiting Something sweet as wild huckleberry Lies beyond this mountain peak ON THE ROAD The air is still as baby’s breath The rolling hills just a grass stain on the horizon The sun’s rays rise like a spotlight on this mountain town I'm an adventurer, out stalking a dragon And I want no ruby slippers to bring me home

  Avigayil F I am the nightmare you forget when you awake The shallow end of every sigh I am the reason that broken hearts break   When your pounding heart insists the waking world is fake That demons lurk in the shadows in the corners of your eye I am the nightmare you forget when you awake   I am desolation; I don’t give, I take Tell me—why do you even try? I am the reason that broken hearts break   Let your bones tremble, let your limbs quake But I tell you—there is nothing awry I am the nightmare you forget when you awake   The wanting inside you is wide as a lake But don’t you dare cry I am the reason that broken hearts break   I am the fear you cannot shake The tears you can never dry I am the nightmare you forget when you awake I am the reason that broken hearts break  

Avigayil F At times she will sway only to a tune To rhythmic planned and practiced steps alone She turns and sways ‘neath light of the fair moon With pointed feet upon the rigid stone.   On sunny days, she runs carefree through the meadow Bare feet slapping the dirt Legs stinging from the rapier cuts of the long grasses.   On Tuesdays, she contorts herself like a modern dancer And shuns all airy silhouettes and illusions of elongation She pulls apart her pointe shoes at the shank Shreds her tutus to scraps of tulle Embraces earth and ground and blunt, inelegant things.   On other days, the barre stretches blank against the wall She folds herself in a corner Draws in her aching limbs Refusing to be coaxed Tonight, the studio echoes in emptiness.

 Avigayil F I spoke my words into the wind, but the wind would not carry them. I sealed them into a bottle with an airtight cork and unbreakable glass, the ink still sharp as the day I wrote them— but they did not drift ashore. I inscribed my words in sand and stone, and some of them are still out there, etched into the walls of a forgotten building. And I thought of all the words that I had sent out into the world and wondered if it was enough to speak my words out loud, so that my soul could hear its own voice, and know itself.

 Yaffa Avigayil F In the softest shades of black and grey   The little girl rests in her father’s arms Astride the left breast of his charcoal-colored suit Checkered dress and mary-janes rounding Small toes Which swing in the air Her long, wispy hair disappears into his cropped tuft Slender arms reach out From white-capped sleeves One small hand wrapped around his neck The other folded in his firm grip Square jaw and rounded chin Gaze solemnly into the camera As two rows of trees converge in the distance On the open road   Their matching, Round, protruding ears Cannot hear the marching boot-steps Which will trample their pastoral quietude   I wonder if his wife snapped the photo Tzipporah And if her voice chirped like the bird she was named for As she called, “Moshe, Yaffa! Turn around and look at the camera!” And if she ever thought about that airy openness And the way the trees fanned out behind them As they huddled together in darkness Or when they again bl...

  Approaching Manhattan at Night Avigayil F Approaching Manhattan at night Hovering over water Darkness surrounds A city lying dormant All twinkling lights and soaring heights Like an astronaut looking down on that small, earth jewel— Once they walked those streets Slush seeping through the soles of their boots Now it hangs in the porthole, Floating in its void, Its smallness and its brightness Like a prize marble, tucked away

  Human Avigayil F “Prove to them that you are human,” they said. They will like you more if you do that for them– Cut your heart out from your skin, why not lift it up before their glowing eyes? Let them watch your ventricles contract and squeeze and bathe your palms red. When they drink the blood that drips from your fingers, you will be happy because they know that you are human.

  Quiet Jacob Avigayil F   The world did not want him— And so, he draped himself in his brother’s skin; He left his father’s home; Learned slyness from his uncle — Underneath, his own skin crawled.   At first, he dreamt of angels, a ladder of endless potential, rungs climbing towards the Heavens. Later, he dreamt of sheep, of baser, earthly things. “Don’t be afraid,” he was told, Because he was—afraid.   He was not the boy he had once been: He learned to raise his voice. He learned to make demands. Once, he'd been known for his gentle words; The softness of his speech had almost blown his cover.   The world did not want his sweetness. The world did not want his innocence. Jacob longed for the tents of his youth.   Inspired by the song יעקב התמים

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—