claim the light
that blushes rose at dawn
and azure at night
those times between
longing and rest
cross roads
worn feet waiting before the
closed heart
leaving messages in braille
signing awkwardly
stroking a cheek
sweeping the porch
seeking the common language
Published in: The Alphabet of Romance
Finishing Line Press 2013
I once described my chapbook The Alphabet of Romance as a series of love poems in the tradition of the “Song of Songs.” Among these courtship poems, with each titled for one of the twenty-two letters in the Hebrew alphabet, is Tet. Though the ninth letter, its poem falls in the centerfold and refers to a crossroad. These lovers were middle-aged, mid-career, and comfortable with who they were.
David and I came from very different worlds. He was born in and lived in Chicago until he was in his forties, in a Jewish family and community. I will always bear the stamp of a military brat. We met in northern California through our jobs, as records managers at national laboratories. I wanted to explore the landscapes we crossed to reach each other.
Many of the images came from my neighborhood in Richmond where I was a first-time homebuyer who believed I would live in that Craftsman bungalow for the rest of my life. The world of metaphors finds me ill at ease, yet every sensory detail here represents an emotional state. Worn feet are not just worn feet. And in referring to a common language, I intended to make a connection with the Adrienne Rich book by that title. She says,
. . . it isn’t simple
to wake from sleep into the neighborhood
of one neither strange nor familiar
whom we have chosen to trust.
Exploring this landscape called for some adventures in formatting. I right justified the titles, but the codex is organized for a reader of English, used to turning pages to the left, contrary to Hebrew tradition. Lines float around the page in a way that felt very experimental to me. My appreciation of white space and what it can do has grown over time. I pushed the boundaries here. Even capitalization and punctuation were banished in this liminal state of learning to love someone.
Though not a winner of the New Women’s Voices contest that prompted me to send it to them, Finishing Line Press asked if they could publish The Alphabet of Romance. I’m grateful to be part of their extensive catalog. The cover photo is mine, a kiddish cup in Venetian glass that David gave me. The author’s photo was taken by David, at a coffeehouse we discovered during our honeymoon in Victoria. Most of the poems were short enough to fit on one chapbook page, making layout relatively easy.
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