03.12.2025

The thin chill of late Autumn's evening Haifa air,

Dances in through 

Open windows, and 

Like shy feathers, touches the 

Skin of my bare shins and feet 

While the rest of my body 

Curls inward to nest 

Inside my gigantic, faux fur coat.

I'm laying on the couch

Its back cushions stacked 

Upon the floor at one end, 

To widen the space of my crippled's bed. 

Through the same windows, 

The day's light fades 

Not gently, it explodes 

In oranges, and vivid pinks, 

Then surrenders to blues, and finally black

And outside, a cat yowls 

And sticky cars' tires complain

As they try to hold onto the street

It's my body, now that opens a memory:  

Cold, late afternoons, 

Sat by the computer, 

Beside the open bedroom window on E 88th.

How empty that apartment 

When She wasn't home

Loneliness, like spikes in 

The bottoms of bare feet on cold, buckled floorboards- 

How I'd push it away 

In the warm escape of 

Others' lives online

And when sometimes even 

That wasn't enough

I'd climb into our bed, my cold, lonely feet 

Not daring to reach out for the

Home of her foot's sole

Instead, like my body right now, 

Protectively,

Pull inwards toward self

And rub them together 

Beneath the duvet covered

Down winter comforter

My body trying desperately to

Pull in warmth

My face, out, 

Open throated gulping air

The cold New York air like 

Clean, ice water.