By Danny Bryck
The chill breaks through in earnest
It rains
The trees hint a few leaves yellowish as if to say,
“On the other hand…”
My facebook feed fills up with pomegranates
My mind makes the same little joke to itself, about what if 5779 could be like 1979
instead of 2019
We all need something to look forward to
My new apartment is finally painted, the damaged plaster obscured
I take the C train
The painters left the door unlocked, as if to say “But then again…”
Maybe I’ll go get a round challah for tonight, after all I’m
right above the Lubavitch neighborhood now
The two esrog vendors redundant across Kingston Ave. like Starbuckses
My father’s friend has been dead for one more day, his cancer now a broken weapon
that never belonged to anyone
He did not want a funeral
He knew the rain would say what needed to be said
The weather is broken too now, though it trudges on doing its best, trying to
invoke the nostalgia of school starting up again, acting like everything is
normal, but we all suspect it’s
just a brave face, we all know
it must be terrifying to be dying
Beneath all the rationalizations, all the perspective,
the research, somewhere there’s just a mirror
that reflects all our fear the same, maybe that’s the book of life, maybe that’s
where it’s written, if not how and when we’re all going to go, at least that
At least the simple fact.
Maybe some part of me is glad he doesn’t have to see whatever horrors come next
Maybe some part of me takes comfort in the autumn anyway,
in the stubborn cycle, seasons succeeding
anthropomorphized, spiteful
Even muted by the urban waste
Even if they don’t make em how
they used to. Even if we lose count,
if we don’t really mean it
From somewhere I’ll get an apple
and from somewhere some honey
Some part of me will taste that the honey is sweet
Maybe some part of me will relish
that the apple is crisp
I will start to unpack my things
We will do our best
29 Elul 5778