Go Get Me a Sonnet

She handed me the keys and said “please go”

A list of groceries fourteen lines long.

I’m not the greatest shopper, this you should know,

It’s just as hard as writing this song. 

But these fourteen lines, are the current goal

Searching around for the most perfect one,

I NEED A LINE 

A few lines down now, I'm almost done.

The last of these were very difficult to find,

Weaving through narrow isles and stumbling blocks,

All of this exertion has fogged my mind,

Yet only twelve minutes have passed on my clock.

Upon my return, accomplished and tired,

I have here the fourteen you desired.

Picture Perfect Lies

This is our portrait.

In kahki’s, denim buttoned tops.

Perfectly pressed and ironed,
(G-d forbid any wrinkles should show)

We worked hard on our spray tans

and whitening our teeth.

All to mask the truth

from creeping in to our photo.

That’s me in the middle

with glistening golden locks.

Fussing over my braids and bows.

My brothers have the bone structure

Like those of the Greek gods

Their Daddy used to look like them:

He used to stand tall. He used to be strong.

Mommy’s eyes don’t show bags,
Light footsteps tap the stairs,

she always comes home late.

Daddy says she’s working.

I did not know therapists

Worked until two A.M.

And since when did their offices smell

of vodka and beer?

On a quiet Autumn Sunday
While the birds sang their morning song
We sat underneath our perfect portrait
And nobody said a word.

 Poem 2 Updated

Every Tuesday evening

As the clouds and colors combined

We would play our game

The rules

Only you and I knew

One hand on top of the other

Together. Tight.

Your’s adorned in wrinkles

Marked by years of pain

Mine small and tender

Marked with colored ink

Yours like sand paper

Rubbing against the grain

Mine smooth and silky

Decorated with colors of the rainbow (updated 10/12)

Never I the victor,

With your hands pressed down

And mine struggling to break free

All the while you laughed;

Eichvant lozin gein

Eichvant lozin gein*

Another Tuesday evening

The clouds and colors combined

And this time

I raise mine

Now it matches yours;

Stained with lines that wont rub off

My hand has reached the top

And I lift it to wave goodbye (Updated 10/12)

*Yiddish for “I won’t let go”