Wednesday, February 17, 2021

Tzror HaChayim

 A poem I wrote many years ago: 


(This poem now has a title, after nearly 20 years, thanks to Philip Ohriner .)


Some people live in a perpetual state of exile

But exile is not always

imposed by place

There are those who are left there by the

passage of time

and those who were simply born mis-

fits into this world

All who are in exile however

have something in common: 

we carry small pieces of our

native worlds with us

like pebbles

(some are worn smooth,

some remain tenaciously jagged and sharp) 

We carry them in our pockets

or sometimes in our shoes.