I am in a garden of scent and color jasmine roses peonies I am filled with loneliness trapped
in open air a nearby pond scored by geese and waterlilies I am trapped in a box of memories
a box growing smaller tighter I am in a theater with one seat a film on constant rewind my
husband has vanished I am alone light is fading it is Rosh Hashanah I must consider my past
my future I am trapped inside my own words regret/guilt burning my face flushed body weak
images of our son see him behind a door deadbolt locked I am so tired of moving blood
through my body as I sit in this seat of memory in the garden birds the color of grief cast no
shadow a butterfly rests on my hand sepia wings unfurled and it was July heat rises in waves
like an ocean breaking over a blacktop parking lot a cheap motel a locked door see my
husband pound on unyielding wood sweating we can’t get in our bodies trembling trapped
in the amber glare of a fierce sun hear our frantic cries sirens ringing ringing like church
bells it is noon and so hot temperature rising like our voices and I don’t want to remember I
am Jewish and commanded to remember I am his mother who remembers his infant body I
want to leave this theater this garden this screen my own flesh see the police batter the door
an unmade bed a dirty floor a broken deadbolt see our son’s body the broken door our broken
boy

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Valerie Bacharach’s writing has appeared, or will appear, in: Vox Populi, The Blue Mountain Review, EcoTheo Review, Minyan Magazine, One Art, The Ilanot Review, Poetica, and Northern Appalachian Review. Her chapbook, After/Life, will be published by Finishing Line Press. Her book, Ghost Recipe, will be published by Broadstone Books. She has been nominated for two Pushcart Prizes. Her poem, “Birthday Portrait, Son,” was selected for inclusion in 2023 Best Small Fictions. Her poem, “Shavli,” has been nominated for Best of the Net 2023.

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