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Ten years later

And I wonder what brings you back

To my path.

My heart was so decimated

And appalled

I told you never to speak to me again–

Which you never have.

But apparently you keep in mind

That you can still look,

And the undeniable amoeba in my heart

That still holds a place for you

Does not shut the blinds.

Perchance I should take the advice

Of others

And deny you access

But your gaze brings me back

To your voicemail 

Speaking about the night we met.

You decided to throw it all away

But the timber of your voice saying

“Ever since we met” 

Repeats in my mind

Like a prized and damaged vinyl. 

It takes me back

To how I was so young

when I loved you,

Lost and betwixt in a 

Quarter century crisis. 

You told me I didn’t act

My age

And I mistakenly thought

Since you were older 

You would be more cautious

With my heart.

I was so surprised when

You handled me recklessly, 

And I had to learn that age

Does not necessarily

Disintegrate carelessness.

So maybe I should build

My own Berlin wall

In the parts of the world

Where you can still see me.

This could potentially be

the wiser option.

But my ability

To cut you off

Was only able to go

So far–

My cells regenerate 

Every seven years

But my body still holds

The texture of your clothing,

The laughter I thought would last longer,

Your etchings of trees that displayed

Your subconscious,

And that god forsaken 

Last voicemail

Where you professed

The burgeoning emotions

That you didn’t think were

Worth salvaging. 

Star of David Necklace

I never fit in as a child 

Even before I knew

I was Jewish.

Growing up in the rural Midwest

It was not kosher to be such a thing,

And people of colour also avoided that area.

I knew I was white

And this made things a little easier,

Though a little complex since my 100% Ashkenazi mother

Was often pulled aside by TSA.

My school ran a play

Where one of the lines was,

“And she didn’t look Jewish

At all”

And my mother cried

In front of everyone.

My grandmother didn’t let her wear a star

Of David because she said

It was like wearing a number on your arm.

My sweet mother

Was perhaps a little less scared

And shell-shocked 

And let me wear one.

Though I knew 

This was yet another way I didn’t fit in

Among many-

I wanted to be proud.

I wanted to be proud.

I suppose the Jews were granted a holy land,

We may have felt we needed

Somewhere to go.

I’m used to not belonging

But I can understand this desire

To some extent. 

I am grateful my Palestinian friend 

Knows I would never want this to happen

To anyone.

My heart is heavy with knowing

Those with my ancestry

Are doing this to others.

I choose to buy soap without animal glycerine

And I think of the holocaust

And how we were turned to soap.

Exploited and destroyed–

It feels unfathomable. 

But as I see the news reports 

Of sending Palestinians to areas

To be killed, 

I do not know

If we have such short term memories.

Banksy made graffiti art that read

“The irony of becoming

What you always hated”

And I cry myself to sleep.

How we can do this to others 

When it was done to us

Is beyond me.

I lost a dear friend 

To Zionism, 

And I mourn this deeply.

I loved her so much for our bond

Of our east coast attitudes on the opposite coast.

I can watch documentaries about Jewish culture

To try to feel better,

And maybe we do need a land just for us.

But not like this.

Not like this.

Seeing a whole people

Pushed out and destroyed

Leaves my star of David necklace 

On my desk.