Dreams Come True

With you, I’ve
revived teenage glories
mingled with poets
pandered politicians
sailed south on a summer cruise
screamed in joy on roller coasters
kissed at midnight on New Year’s Eve
spoken my own words at an open mike
laughed heartily and daily
put the children to bed as you wash dishes
held hands in every movie
woken cuddled in smiles
flown above the ocean waves

A short list
of the fantasies
you’ve made real
with no real attempt
at being fantastic
just honest truth
that this is how you live
to make my dreams
come true.

With you, I’ve
been set free to soar.

In the Moment

In this moment, there is
normalcy, domesticity, tranquility
and loving you as you love
watching the pasttime that reminds you
of simpler, easier times
of when your Nana
whose ring I bear
watched with you, cheered with you
and I’m certain, though certainly not
her, that you are happy
in this moment, with me.

Shana, No Y

When I feel lost, spiraling down
spinning madly like a camera
dropped from a 10,000 foot precipice
I can hold on to this –

I am Shana, no Y.

Know why? It’s the name
my mother whispered in my ear
a cooing sound to tell me
I’m more beautiful to her
than the starlight streaming
into our beds, that first night
of life, in her arms.

I am Shana, no Y.

Shana, or Sarai, or Sarah, after
the first mother of the Jewish people.
I am a mother, first, even if
later than most. Protecting
my young, my people,
matriarch of my world.

I am Shana, no Y.

I am what I am,
In God’s image, female spirit
embodied in the most female of forms
exaggerated breasts and hips and
round backside arching, aching
you embrace me because you, male,
can’t resist melding into me.

I am Shana, no Y.

And still evolving, perfect in
every misshapen moment
every seeming stumble
every award and ascent.
Who am I? No other answer
but this –

I am Shana, no Y.

The Ostrich, the Rock, and the Farmer: A Parable

Oh lookie here upon the ground –
what yummies do I see?
Delicious looking cakes I’ve found
all left here just for me.

I’ll swallow one – oh no, it’s hard.
It must’ve gotten stale.
But that’s ok, for my pillard
will take it, without fail.

I just don’t care what they all say.
I know I see a cake.
A rock they tell me – throw it away!
Your neck will surely break!

But swallow it, that’s what I did.
Oh no, I start to choke!
Will someone help me? Heaven forbid
that this is where I croak.

Oh thank you, kind and handsome sir
the one I see each day.
My servant surely, untrained cur,
he never goes away.

Ok, I’ve learned my lesson now.
I won’t make that mistake.
But look – there’s something on the ground.
Oh yay! Another cake!