—Praesens, Expenditus, Absolutus—
Chronos coils like molten aurum through our grasp,
its heft cognizable only in the pulse of Time.
No antecedent lends credence, no futurity preserves;
the contemporaneous alone adjudicates its coin against our marrow.
Respiration becomes legal tender; heartbeat, the irrevocable contract.
Each gaze, each gesticulation, a transient negotiation,
flaring and collapsing like ephemeral markets of umbra
we cannot master, only apprehend.
We discourse in fragments—chronicles of hours and quanta—
as if the ledger of existence might be reconciled.
Yet the cosmos remains uncounted, its obligations
inscribed in luminance and silence, trembling in its own shadow;
And in that tremor, we are born, spent, and unmade,
clutching the coin of now in trembling palms,
investing neither in timorous regret nor avarice,
for the treasury of eternity resides exclusively in immediacy.
Once the convulsion subsides, stasis returns.
We stand, unborrowed and unbought,
observing the inexorable flux of aeons,
and apprehend: naught endures save that which is expended righteously.
~ The Rebbitzin ~
The 'Rebbitzin' is the wife
of the Rabbi,
the heart and soul of the
Jewish family
-as you'll see
He studies his books
I scrub all the nooks
He adjudicates laws
I cook and clean without pause
He recites prayers, brings down God’s light
Me? --I do laundry well into the night
As for our nine children, who puts them in bed?
Again me, after which betimes I think I am dead
Now, I’m not complaining
For this life I was training
And the Rabbi’s a wonderful fella…
But who am I? ~ Cinderella?
Grit in her eyes beaming fortitude of vibes
Powers her dash from one end to the other
Handing out drinks: brandy, whiskey, beer;
Serving high rollers and surly poor-souls
Where lights are flashing as machines jingle
When luck adjudicates winners and losers.
Watch her essence of fiery determination
Fueling her steps, gathering her strength,
As she churns numbers quickly in her head:
Grocery, rent, money for mother’s meds;
And some she’ll spare for her father today.
Hurriedly she sprints when her shift ends
Examining faces torn by ills, unwell, hapless
Under the bridge, by the train station,
Recalling childhood’s happier days within
Sound of his soft voice, calling her princess.
Abruptly she freezes, recollecting the scene,
Standing like a milestone on edge of the street,
Lips quivering, eyes tearing, pausing to forgive him
For abandoning them in a reckless charade
When suddenly a child became a parent…
So much about living she has learned since,
But not much about how to bury the dead.
May 11, 2020
HM: Brian's Select 8 Contest
The Heron, grey priest of the shallow mere
Stalks slow and calculated t’ward its prey
With cool far seeing vision of a seer
And knowing his own power needs no defray
For he alone adjudicates the day
His strategy grinds more than single axe
A long unhurried glide path to new gaze
Will reposition him for a climax
And total consummation of his plays
The end - submission that for him is praise
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