A poem for collective grief
ceasefire now - I can only be what I am
My substack will not typically be a place for my poetry - I like to send my poems to litmags and try to get published. By putting the work here, it becomes ineligible for publication (since it is now considered published). But this poem said it had to be shared widely so I am sharing and asking you to share it too, if it moves you. But normally - if the world could ever be anything close to normal again - I will be sticking to the plan, writing about creativity and wholeness as usual.
Where is the Angel? (from Chayei Sarah)
It is a month and then some
since Gaza has been sent to
a deeper level of hell. Tonight
the rabbi spoke of Chayei Sarah.
The portion that begins
with the death of Sarah ends
with the burial of Abraham
by his two sons who mourn
their collective grief,
a history of pain piling up
in stories of what was done
to me to me and what was worse
and what could have happened
the knife the thirst all but for the angel.
The angel stopped his hand. The angel
gave us water. Where is the angel
for our grief? How can we stand here
in the dank of this cave sorrow
together and our common human
understanding, our disappointments
our jealousies without those rods
pressing into our spines the ladders
of such agonies we insist on anger instead.
What matters, this ground we tread.
So true to so many hearts.
This is gorgeous, Emma. What a graceful use of biblical allegory! It's almost inconceivable how closely the Old Testament / Torah speak to the world we're living in, and your poem offers a way to engage with its prescience, and its power. Dark times require bright lights, and this poem (and your work generally) is certainly among them.