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