Kaddish For Helen
Gray feathers in the rearview mirror flutter finally to rest along the shoulders. Your hair—thin and silver like birdsong, long into your decades of denying yourself nourishment—gone. Delicate creature I cannot swerve to avoid, you are free now of hollow bones and highways. No more pecking at seeds and berries. Yit’gadal v’yitkadash sh’mei raba. I alone count gulls for the minyan.
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Donna Levine Gershon
SIXFOLD POETRY SUMMER 2013