Skip to main content

Hineini

If I had a cigarette, today I would smoke it. I haven't smoked in many years, but I'd show you what a grieving woman can do with a pack of tobacco and some papers!!

All I have is a bottle of sherry. All I had was a bottle of sherry.

For so many decades you sang for me. Sang my sadness and my loneliness and my despair. Now, what shall I do with these feelings?

I loved you when I was 16, and I have loved you every day since. (As have millions of other women, of course) I am almost old now, and you have left me. How could you! How could you. Hineini, Mr. Cohen, didn't you hear me shouting, take me along!

You probably never knew that we were born on the same day, you and I, the man with the golden voice and the woman who can't sing.

I knew your friend Irving Layton, and you'll be having a laugh with him soon. Say hello for me.

So much darkness. I will cut my hair. I will never be afraid again. I will stand tall. I will speak my mind. Hell, I will sing, my Lord!


Comments

Popular posts from this blog

The Tree

Years since it bore an apricot. Many more since it bore many. Half the trunk rotted, fallen, gathered in the windrows by the field. On mossy branches raspberries grow, making rainbows. But every spring, around my mother's yahrzeit it remembers (as do I) and blossoms in the palest pinks fiercely, profusely, fragile. Nothing will come of it, as nothing comes of me, except forgetting, except small bits of me riding away on petals on the wind.

Something About Spring

There's something about spring.... Trees and shrubs madly competing to get all their leaves out first, big, fat, lush; grass turning too green, then being outdone by the too-yellow of a carpet of dandelion; tulips burning up the near-empty garden beds with hues of deep purple and barnfire reds. It's all somehow too much. And people, too, popping out of their sealed houses, shivering in thin shirts and sandals with grim determination, trying to ignore the hard spring breeze. In all that rushing towards new life, that frenzy seemingly shared by all living things, with the swallows repairing last year's nests, and the Canada Geese squatting in the middle of the hayfield, or even by the side of the road to get the new crop of children out ... in all that there is also denial, a forgetting of what fails to return, what has quietly ceased during autumn and winter: plants that went underground and have failed to rise again, animals whose last breath rode away on the stiff winds of

We're okay!!

We're okay, we say, we're well; zooming to see friends, it's great,  we're smiling, waving, smiling.  Smiling. And all around our elders trapped in airless rooms with only one way out: in body bags. Curbside the freezer trucks are waiting. Remember what it's like to hug,  to kiss, to be so close we dreamt each other's dreams? Will we remember--if we live? And will the woods be green again this spring? Will God forgive us our sins?