I always cry when I read poetry. Oh, you must read very sad poems then. No, I just forget to blink or maybe I am afraid- In case a word slips away like a ship into the sunset That can never be returned if lost at sea, Or a love note burned so that it will never be seen. You see poetry is elusive, And we must keep a wary eye upon it at all times. This watchful gaze cannot be pried from the page- Just in case a word tries to escape, Like a fox willing to bite off its foot for freedom You see, I am diligent in my reading, like a hunter in wait. ...

Picking apart the pieces of a pinecone Digging with fingertips sore from the pain From the sharp edges of a hardened core The consistent pulling apart to pry open The heavy wooden doors of the heart Individually plucking the pieces like the strings of a harp Angels screaming when the pluck turns to a pull Like a sharp withdrawal of breath That doesn’t belong in your lungs This poison of decay Not the decay of fall Like the slowly drifting leaves that cascade From heights unattainable by man That can only be felt by the swift sigh of the wind Between your grasping fingertips Like the grasping fingers of your love That slips away because you weren’t strong enough To hold on to them as they begged with teary eyes Looking up at you from the great descent And you let them go, knowing you couldn’t bear the weight Of both of you and the love that was creating a canopy Over your heads and compressing your hearts And lungs until even the soft scent of fall could not revive you On this cold winter day As the last of the fall leaves are being swept away down the stream Where you once cast little paper boats Wondering as you held hands where they would land Hoping for fantasy but knowing even as your fingers unwove That they would end caught in the dam of nature Of things never quite meant to be But it wasn’t enough to make you say no Even as you plucked the ribs of a pinecone Asking whether she loved you or not Like petals of a daisy that have atrophied and petrified Just as the bitterness of the question has cemented in your heart Like a cancer hardening you from the inside out Until you are as purely petrified As the dissected limbs of lumber left for dead Each band stands out, creating a carousel of time But the Braille of years gone by has become illegible Leaving you to remember the lost sound of symphonies Music notes echoing into starless nights Caught in cashmere skies cascading with rain Where only the earthy smell of Petrichor remains And the scattered scales of the barren pinecone Left in the fall foliage like spent shells of artillery Even these bullets cannot stop the pain in you As you abandon the stripped pinecone And begin to pull apart the sharp edges of yourself To find the hardened core within Hollow it out until it is empty And start over again

In the early morning aftermath of our New Year’s Eve Party, everyone slowly emerged, none too happily at that. All of us with little sleep and bleary eyes. It was a hard time to be waking up at 6:30am when you didn’t go to bed until around 2am that morning. Regardless, we struggled out of bed and greeted the first day of the New Year with half-tempered smiles and curious minds for the day ahead. ...

On the eve of a new year, I began my newest adventure in the land of Israel. Sleepless night turned into tired morning as the sun wiggled its way under my door. Being jet lagged is never fun, but when you open your door and feel the Israeli sun on your face for the first time, many things are forgotten. I opened the door to a clear crisp sun on a slightly hazy day that seemed to have been sung in by birdsong. ...

Whenever I return home from a trip there is always a barrage of questions awaiting me from everyone I know. I love to return to family and friends that are inquisitive and curious about my experiences, but I always feel a sense of disappointment in my ability to answer their questions. How can I put into words so quickly the things that I saw? How can I explain the ways in which I have been changed by the things that I saw? How can I convey the beauty and complexity that fills the world that we live in and how grateful I am for even a short glimpse into these complexities? This is what I am faced with upon my return from any trip, but I feel these things especially now after my return from Israel. ...

Some where in the back of my mind I have always known I lived in an exceptional place, it just wasn’t often that I cared to appreciate it. I used to make up stories about adventures in far away lands and imagine myself in a thousand places, anywhere but home. The exciting and the extraordinary was always beyond that next mountain or underneath the crashing waves of the sea, but never did I look at the mountains or the ocean right in front of me. ...

My family spent a lot of time this holiday season thinking about memories of holidays past. What made things memorable, what things did we hold on to so many years later, was it happiness? Was it disappointment? And if so, why? I have been thinking a lot about this lately and one thing my mother said to me that she remembered from Christmas in her childhood very fondly was when she made things for her entire family. How the act of sitting down and applying oneself entirely to doing something that you just want to do because it would make your family happy. I think that is a good reason to look back on Christmas or whatever holiday is being celebrated during this cold winter season where family keeps us warm and happy; to celebrate not because we feel obligated and tied to disappointment or the gratification of materialistic desires, but the celebration of loving for the sake of loving. Because they are family, because they are not perfect, and because they are our blood, our flesh, and from them we find meaning. ...

I spent a lot of time this semester sitting in a library, neck craned, eyes strained, and brain drained. Even though these places are beautiful in their own majestic academic ways, with towering columns that have held up the burdening weight of university, I can’t help but feel closed in by four walls. There is so much outside those tall grandiose windows that let light drift gently in to illuminate the library walls. ...

Windy, cloudy, stormy days always remind me of this poem. It is an older one but I thought I would repost it today just because I always think of this poem on a day like today. The woman walks Along in a crowded street Surrounded by people Yet so alone A scarf like a noose Wrapped around her frail neck Hands shoved deep Into her pockets She only looks At the ground The rhythmic step of her feet Her wide hat Shields her from the world She ignores them Is afraid of them She wraps herself tighter In what is safe and comforting And is content in isolation So she walks along In a crowd of people Without faces The wind picks up For a moment it whispers A soft secret in her ear A riddle told to fast As the wind Carried her hat away The woman let out A short little gasp As her barrier was removed She reached forward Fingertips grazing it Just out of reach As it bounces and rolls Along the dirty street She chases in vain And no one will help Finally out of breath And out of heart She gives up Standing in the crowd Puffs of winter breath Clouding before her as she watches Her hat dance away Her hair billowing about her Watching with sad longing eyes She stands still among thousands As she turns to leave A tap on her shoulder She turns in surprise A man stands before her Her hat in hand Holding it out towards her A smile but no words She takes it and offers A shy little smile in return As she starts to pull it Back into place He reaches out to stop her Why He asks her You have such a pretty face He smiles and lets go Giving an impartial shrug You don’t need to hide You are beautiful you know He leaves her with His few soft words And a knowing smile She stands there Hat in hand Filled with his offerings Her eyes are wide And her hands slightly quake She lifts the hat Looking at it now And tosses it away She watches it Flit and dance in the sky Gone forever She smiles slightly The stranger’s knowing smile She doesn’t need it anymore

A Red Bellied sparrow thrashes Desperation clawing against the clear glass Of a crimson window frame Feathers soft turned brittle with fear Push and push with no result Fighting a one sided battle With an immovable object And a mind that cannot comprehend That this battle cannot And will not Be won Red bellied sparrow with heaving chest Throw yourself against the window No more Cradle of mercy Cup the wilted head of the defeated Carry it gently Feeling with curious fingers the fluttering Heart beat of an animal trapped A being consumed by fear and confusion Nestled close against your chest Feel the fear from a cage Cast by the crimson shade of light Of an escape masked with unseen bars Carry it gently Out into a light untainted with crimson Where, extended into space The cradle parts Setting the red bellied sparrow free ...