Smile

Her eyes follow me as i walk into the room.
Sad eyes.
Waiting
And wondering
How I could smile.
Mornings are difficult enough.
Mornings here are even harder.
So she sits there
Morose and just plain sad.
And I wish I could tell her that it'll all get better.
But I don't know that.
So I'm quiet
And I just smile.

lowercase

sometimes
i feel like a
lowercase letter.
just part of the crowd.
noone notices
me.
and then
there are those times
when all i want to be is
lowercase.

All This Time

Oh!
There you are!
And all this time
I thought you were hiding.
Yes, you.
You thought I didn't notice,
didn't you?
Are you afraid?
I'm still human.
I'm still living.
Your children
don't make me
less of a person.
Even though
I've been waiting
all this time.

Sleep

Every night
It seems the same
Sleep eludes
my tired frame

I try to rest
My weary eyes
For I've been up
since sunrise

I'm aching to
just fall asleep
but my ears
hear every creak

And so I lay
awake in bed
tomorrow's come
the day I dread.

And now the world
Is painted red.

My Face's Location

Atop my neck
Sits my face
In its most
Usual place

So why do all
Look instead
Towards my middle
'Stead of my head?

Promises...

She promised me a son within the year
That was three years ago.

He promised me a child before Purim
That was more than a year ago.

They promised me the world
Broken promises.

I am an Island

I am an island.
Weathered by the sands of time.
Rocky shores surrounded by
seas of tears.
And long ago buried treasures
waiting to be uncovered.

I am an island.
A lone landmass amidst a
raging sea.
Wave upon wave of tempest storms
followed by bouts of calm winds.

I am an island.
Waiting for a ship
to come along.

Burnt Again

Went to a family simcha on Thursday.
My husband was so calm and happy, thinking that maybe this time, we too had a chance at making our own.
And then, that same day, it was over.
Finito.
And I couldn't even cry, because I was having guests for Shabbos and had to cook and get my home ready.

On to the next round!
(At least the doctor, nurses, and secretaries were happy to see me...)

The Waiting Place

…for people just waiting.
Waiting for a train to go or a bus to come, or a plane to go or the mail to come, or the rain to go or the phone to ring, or the snow to snow or waiting around for a Yes or No or waiting for their hair to grow. Everyone is just waiting.
Waiting for the fish to bite or waiting for wind to fly a kite or waiting around for Friday night or waiting, perhaps, for their Uncle Jake or a pot to boil, or a Better Break or a string of pearls, or a pair of pants or a wig with curls, or Another Chance. Everyone is just waiting.
No! That’s not for you!
Somehow you’ll escape all that waiting and staying. You’ll find the bright places where Boom Bands are playing. With banner flip-flapping, once more you’ll ride high! Ready for anything under the sky. Ready because you’re that kind of a guy!

-Dr. Suess

So, once again, I'm waiting.
Waiting for that day to come... when they'll prick my inner elbow, draw some blood, and tell me if my dreams have come true or not.
Just waiting. Not allowed to lift. Feeling nauseous and tired and altogether out of sorts.

I hate waiting.

Sister Dearest

I know your smile
I know your grin
and I know the different nuances between them

I know your walk
I know your waddle
and I know when you begin to feel unwell

I know your pleading eyes
I know your puppy-dog faces
and I know that I can't ever say "no" to you

But do you hear my tired laugh?
Do you see my drained collapse?
Do you sense the tears welling just beyond the pale?

I'm breaking down, sister dear.
I can't carry your burdens forever.

Fooled Ya!

When I'm cycling, I feel nauseous and tired and altogether out of sorts.
I'm short tempered, can barely speak on the phone, and don't really feel up to cooking dinner.

So last week, my sister called to ask if she could come to us for a Shabbos meal. I declined, saying I wasn't feeling well. She responded by inviting us for a meal.

The next thing I knew, my other sister was on the line, inviting us for Shabbos.

I sat on the couch most of the meal.

She thinks I'm pregnant.

Oh well. Better get a few meals out of her before she realizes she was fooled.
:-)

Disappointment

Been a week since last injection

I'm feeling kind of queasy

Could this be what it feels like?

It really seemed too easy.

I've said all my tehillim

My back begins the aching

And 40 days of shmiras peh

Has been mine for the taking

My husband's feeling hopeful

And I start to feel the same

Could this really be the very month

That G-d picked our name?

But yet another disappointment

My heart has again borne

Now it's time to start another round

Of drives in early morn.

To Darius, Son of Esther

You are the son she never asked for

Never wanted

You were born to an unwilling mother

Forced to leave her husband for your father

A yiddeshe mamme

With a child who considered himself of another faith

Did you ever hear your mother crying?

Did you ever stop to think of her pain?

She gave up everything for her nation

A nation that you did not call your own.

I often think of your mother's hidden pain

As her name reveals, Esther was adept at hiding

And I hide, too.

Perhaps those monthly lost chances

would have turned out to be you.

Thoughts on Tznius

When I was not yet twelve

My teacher said to me

The most important part of tznius

Is to cover each knee

I wonder what she'd say now

If she saw me this way

Knees not quite covered by the drape

As on my back I lay

And when I got to high school

I heard most every week

Don't ever show your elbows

If purity you seek

I wonder what they'd say now

If they saw me sitting tight

Sleeve pushed more than halfway up

As my blood flows through the pipe

And every summer, while at camp

I knew it was the rule

Don't you ever, ever dare expose

Your midriff at the pool

I wonder what they'd say now

If they saw me standing here

My belly sure ain't under wraps

As I stab the needle there

Murder in the First Degree

I remember it like yesterday.

With great trepidation, I opened the FedEx box with the large "refrigerate immediately" sticker. Me? I'm going to have to inject myself? I was terrified. Absolutely shaking.

I read the directions - Open. Twist. Line up the numbers. Pull. Watch a little liquid emerge. Line up the numbers. Pull. Squeeze the stomach. Plunge it in. Wait a few seconds. Pull out.

I felt nauseated. I never dreamed I'd be stabbing myself daily.

Now, it's become old habit.

I stab myself, and more of me dies each time.

Paint-by-Number

Little child, home from school

Shrugs his coat off at the door

Grabs his brushes, papers, paint

Sets them out upon the floor

Stares at the paper, clean and white

Licks his lips, then dabs with glee

The only colors he can find

A brownish red monotony

The paper, once so fresh and pure

Has now been sullied by his art

This ugly number is a fence

Though not so high, keeps us apart

7 boxes does he paint

With varying crimson hues

Till the last one, pure as snow

Chase away the number blues.