Think Spring
Think spring. Plant. Be hopeful. Plan. Except plants must take root. Take root in soil. Soil isn't dirt. Soil is alive. What if, I'm like I joke, "dead inside"? I play into the joke while envisioning my hollowness. It’s dark and cut sharply like a cavern. Somehow it angles slowly upward to cause a slant on one side only. It spirals inward. What can I plant here? As I say the words, or even think them, I can sense the nauseous ache. Women's History Month holds inside it
Can Birds Drown in Snow?
Google dodged the question. It only answered with descriptions of snow-covered gardens and burrowing for seeds. At the end it added a...
Last Year I Learned the Word for Costume
My family’s closets guarded a variety of costumes. They were ready. I had asked eagerly about their choices for weeks in advance this year. I was ready. This year during Hebrew class when the Purim slidedeck appeared, I offered the word for costume. Proud. No hesitation. And, it was not enough. My teacher answered with, “Le-hit-a-pes.” To dress up. The reflexive version of the verb ‘to look for’ is. . . dress up. I appreciated the connection because it would make the
