everyone is singing, but

i am thinking a lot about who i was and how i felt in the fall of 2023, following october 7th and the beginning of the massive wave of violence and destruction leveled on gaza. i think, as we enter this next era, i am curious what i can learn from myself then. what i wrote, and how i thought. over the next few weeks i'll share some writing from that time mixed with my current voice. i'm not always open to renegotiating with my past selves, so this return feels vulnerable and confusing and new. 

(november 28, 2023)

everyone is singing but i 

can’t, jaw rusted like the inside of a kettle i found on the street 

orange blooms from the seams, unseen on the outside

everyone is singing but i 

listen, desperate for a wail in this harmony 

waiting for the sharp fuzzy screech of fabric tearing 

everyone is singing but this joy 

is an unwelcome guest in a crowd of mourners

beauty passes, an interloper, from the corner of my sight

everyone sang and i left before the last niggun 

slipped out the side door before has v’shalom, i’m asked to shmooze 

everyone sang and the next morning a friend shares that she saw me 

and was struck by what she thought 

was a black veil hanging over my face 

but later when she passed by, just out of my sight 

she realized it was a trick, 

a single spot in the light 

that descended over 

my eyes 

she pauses to gauge my reaction, 

we are still getting to know each other and i am, for some reason 

hesitant to say that perhaps the light knew to bend away 

thanksgiving for me right now is the rust 

is noticing the creak in my body when i turn shuddering 

towards beauty, can barely bring myself 

to sing in the shabbes bride

i say it anyways and she nods 

we see each other, i think 

this acknowledgement is kind of gratitude 

handed, mundane 

from joy’s passing silhouette 

to a veil of unshone light

to her, 

to me