For Anna T

**this poem was inspired by Anna T and also the poem "Astrophil and Stella 31"**

Sweet Steps

With what sweet steps, my dear, do you turn around the floor
You move like the waves on the ocean
Your feet are a poem in slow-motion
And I see your eyes in starlight, who could ask for any more

Your roots stretch softly down, your branches soar
You bend, a willow in wind
And I know I would do it again
All from the start, what else are wishes for?

Oh tell me, moon, what was it like before
You'd memorized ev'ry lash on her skin?
You'd studies her ev'ry movement and whim
But somewhere you always knew that she was not forever more

God, to go back to that haven in your arms
But time, like me, is ever marching on.

For Oliver

**Author's note: This is my 300th post on this blog so that's exciting!**

Seder Plate (or to my younger cousin)

Charoset:
Reminds us that life is bitter and sweet.
Hard work and joyful reward
We find this duality in family, in friends
In books, movies, video games
There are many days of hard work yet but many joys too
How can any of us be free if some are still in slavery?

Parsley:
Reminds us of springtime
Of being the youngest
Of being the fullest of love
Reminds us of things that grow
Shooting up from the earth
Soaking in knowledge like rain
Reminds us of the sunshine a smile can spread across a day

Bitter Herbs:
And what joy is there to be found in spicy things?
Horseradish and weird pickle flavors
Fermented radish to season the gefilte fish
And raw onions for the chopped liver
How would you like to find a food that no one but your pop could love
And give it a seat at the table?
In these foods we truly find the meaning of passover welcome.

Egg:
What a small thing to contain so much potential!
What could it have hatched to be?
Who knows the kind of bird that might have lived inside?
What will you learn?
Who will you become?

Shank Bone or Roasted Beet:
We took something bloody and grim (the shank bone)
And we made it delicious (the beet)
We can grow up, change, learn new jokes, love new cats
And still honor our tragic past

Matzo:
You are the rock the table is built around
Without you we would be so angry, so hungry, so bored
You are the joy at our seder
The levity in our story about suffering
The crunch in our bland-ness
The passover meal depends on you.

Orange:
Maybe there is not a place for you yet
Maybe you still are trying to fit yourself into this big plate of tradition
The shoes of thousands of years of ritual are big shoes to fill
Don't worry, someone will fit a space for you
Squeezed between the herbs and the greens
And you will someday feel like you've always belonged.

For Keyra

To Keyra, the first great love of my life, my best friend:

I wanted to write you a poem that was just the word "peepiss" repeated an undefined number of times
And then I was talking it over with Denali and I said
"She's the first great love of my life. I am who I am today because of her."
And I realized I probably owe you a proper poem.

Because we grew up and into each other like two trees planted next to each other
Like lichen and algae, feeding each other, shaping each other loving each other

I have books of poems for incidental lovers,
Lovers for a night, lovers who shouldn't have been, lovers who never were
And here you are
The first great love of my life
The friend who shaped me, who loved me, who taught me how to love
Who taught me how to love myself
Poem-less. Not a single poem
For you.

Surely there must be something about the phones calls we shared when I was alone on the road
Something about the way you know every single one of the people I've every kissed
The night we went skinny dipping in the bioluminescent ocean
The years of manicures we painted in your back yard
Sunning our shoulders and legs in the warm yard,
The way I was afraid of your guinea hens
 The way you're the only one in my life (myself included) who can keep track of my partners

My love for you is an ocean
All my lovers combined were a puddle I splashed in
I would drown in the depths of my love for you
I would not think of fighting the undertow

But I did still manage to put the word "peepiss" into a poem for you.

For Julia

How do I write poems for a poet?
I would sooner give one of my paintings
To the lady herself, Frieda Kahlo

I feel the futility of it, me
Writing you a poem. It's like if I tried
To teach you how to love. How to star gaze
In summer nights and name each path of stars
"your eye" "your forearm" "your pinkie toe"

Like I would teach you how to turn on the
Radio and hear your name in each chord.
Like I could teach you how lips, that holy
Palmer's kiss, does touch, how to memorize
Each second of the singular epic
That is love. You could write the book on love
And here I am strug'ling through the cliff notes.

For Katie

When was the last time you got hurt?
Scraped your shin against a coffee table at the right angle
And bled a little on your neighbor's nice white carpet?
Perhaps caught your shoulder against a thorn bush sticking too far onto the trail
And cursed at the bush as though it might feel remorse?

Was she there to hold your hand the last time you feel?
Did she help dig the thorn out of your shoulder?
Put a bandaid on and kiss it better?
Did she just hold you as she cried?

You know the joke, "Two men walk out of the bar
And one man said, "Is that the sun or the moon?"
And the other says, "I don't know, I don't live around here."

Well, what's the difference between a healer and a lover?

"Is that joy or grief?"
"I don't know, I don't live around here."
Whatever it is, it's too big to hold and shining through your sky
And you don't remember when you last saw something so bright
So beautiful.

For Rivkie

What does a promise taste like?
It tastes like fresh challah bread and three day stale sandwich bread
It tastes like ice cream snuck from the fridge after midnight straight out of the carton
It tastes like the air before a warm rain

What does a promise feel like?
It feels like the air of a secret escaping your lips
It feels a cold stream on your bare feet on the hottest day in summer
It feels like the knot at the base of your neck you can never quite work out

What does a promise smell like?
It smells like the musty couches of the staff lounge where we spend hours together
It smells like wool soaked in campfire smoke
It smells like burnt popcorn and fresh earth and lake muck and dish soap

What does a promise sound like?
The noise of a city
The quiet of a farm
The song of something in between

What does a promise look like?
You darling, it looks just like you

For Daniel

A list of things I know to be true

1. That the world will continue to spin
2. Zoom is glitchy
3. If I plant a seed in the earth it will grow
4. The world will continue to spin
5. The sun shines and every day she does she says "I love you"
6. Teaching is a labor, like Sisyphus I will not drop this boulder
7. Love is the last of the gifts from the garden and the hardest of Hercules' 12 labors
8. To nurture an acorn into a tree takes sunlight, rain, and a great deal of patience
9. The sun will not stop shining and the world will continue to spin