Two Poems

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Ohr Gutman

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Family Tradition

 

The door sweeps open and lets a rush of wind inside

As I step into the Old City’s evening air 

Lavender bellflowers and vines lead me down stone steps 

Past the threshold 

of Apartment 62, Moshe Kol Street

 

***

 

I am still here

But I may as well be gone 

Across the street, the swings and steel slides

will lie in wait 

Behind me, the building’s cream color so bright during the day

is blanketed by dusk

And the light goes out in the window 

of Apartment 62, Moshe Kol Street

 

***

 

I am in the car

Leftovers of Safta’s signature homemade Hamin 

will meet a miserable, wasteful end 

The story of why Saba was jailed for 13 months under the British Mandate 

will remain unfinished

 

*** 

 

Next summer

 

I’ll recite rehearsed greetings with words I won’t remember 

to a grandmother that calls me by my cousin’s name 

I fight the seatbelt’s pull to see

the twinkling terraced hills of Jerusalem, 

that, like the dying embers of a fading fire,

set the muted night aglow 

The city that floats on mountains 

The city I love from a distance

 

***

 

I am launched forward

 

And a silent tear escapes my clenched eye

We are fragmented

We share nothing but the summer 

Time and again

I’ll leave the same Apartment 62 on Moshe Kol Street 

The same Old City 

If nothing else, I have this 

A family tradition

Honored and kept

By one

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Rachel

 

Bright whites that stun against deep charcoal skin 

Mounds of tight curls wrapped regally atop her crown 

That block my view in class 

The girl with the smile 

 

The girl whose 

Eager eyes light up, who cheers, at my sight,

Who invented a screaming secret handshake

Just for us two 

To say hello, and so much more 

Like children in the eyes of the world

 

The girl who

Hugs like my mother 

Hugs like welcome home 

With arms like shea butter 

And skin cool to the touch 

That grounds me to the Earth

 

The girl who,

When I told her her 

Earrings were pretty,

Gifted them to me the very next day 

And when on me the compliments then rained

I couldn’t answer why 

She’d given me her prettiest thing to have

 

If you are all of these pretty things, Rachel,

Then didn’t you know it?

 

You were also the girl who

Kept her head buried in her written world 

Ritually chose the trance between her headphones 

And could go unnoticed in the corner of the class

But I always thought you played upbeat melodies 

 

In the journal, with you always, 

You wrote of your little dreams

That weren’t so little

But were actually many 

To adopt a cat, a monkey, 

To jump from a plane, 

To learn 7 languages and surf, 

To become a national park tour guide and a therapist and a CEO, 

To invent a billion dollar idea and become a billionaire

But that above all 

You are a simple and curious person 

Who wants to know everything 

But only a little at a time 

A little every day

 

In your journal, 

You wrote that you didn’t know which day would be your last

Or when time, for you, would stop 

But that before it does, you want to fulfill your potential

Your dreams 

As many of your little dreams as possible 

 

So tell me, Rachel 

What about those dreams… 

Where will they go now? 

 

Tell me, Rachel

Who really

Was the girl 

Behind the smile?

 

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Ohr Gutman is a sophomore majoring in Psychology and minoring in Creative Writing.