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"Exodus"
by
Paloma

She washed the cup,
                          three times,
an anniversary gift...white with pale lilacs,
inattentive to time
"Why did you go?"...plaintive....groping..."I've never been
 strong"

"Could I have
                          said...explained it better?"
A slammed door.

Words at the kitchen
                          table...
round and round in her mind....
like the carousel at Coney Island,
his favorite as a child.

"Bubeleh....she groaned...my son....my
                          life..."

Hands dried on the
                          frayed towel,
the yellow apron back on the hook.
Rituals...a comfort....her solace..
a balm that kept her sane

Loss had broken
                          in...robbed her
a second time

Faded slippers up the
                          stairs,
his mezuzah, a guard stationed at his door,
so proud at his Bar Mitzvah
"Ma,  listen...."  Hebrew prayers,  letter perfect

Her delicate, 
                          trembling fingers...from lips....to mezuzah

In his room,  no need
                          for light...his father's photograph...
"You are your father's son"  same image, hearty disposition,
Tan leather jacket, on the bureau, released maleness....
father to son,
A shelf rich with model cars, red, shiny...
"Ma,  someday,  I'll have a red car....  a  fast car....I'll drive you to Shabbat
 services!"

Tender...tightness
                          dissolved from her eyes,
Innocent,
"I could not protect you"
An invitation, a schoolmate,
expectant at the window, then the phone call

"What are we
                          teaching our children?"

"It's o.k., 
                          Ma"
Don't lie to me...I know you...since your first kick

An unruly head bowed,
Shame? Disappointment?
Will you follow my son to California?

In the corner, a
                          wooden rocker,
relic from Prague...colicky....soothing him....at her breast...safe
Now all stripped away...he is defeated

"What is it 
                          children say?...Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt
                          me"

"Don't touch
                          me!  I want my dad!"

She crumbled in the
                          chair...a veined fist.... hard against her chest...
anguish....with every gasp....her head....memories...
entombed in her hands.

Bubbe's handmade quilt
                          on the floor,
now tucked under the adolescent chin...
a hushed kiss..."Forgive me...Dovid....how long since she had called him by
that
affectionate name?...too long.... too late...my precious Dovid"

Outside his door..
delirious....forehead against the metal tradition of her nation...
desperate for hope from the parchment:  "Hear,  O Israel:  The LORD our God, 
the
LORD is one.  Love the LORD your God with all your heart and with all your soul and
with all your strength

"Please...I
                          need to know..."

A voice is heard in
                          Ramah,  mourning and great weeping,  Rachel weeping for her
children and refusing to be comforted,   because her children are no more
A whimper...a voice..

"He is in the
                          Palm of My Hand, Rachel"

Steadying
                          herself...her bones revived..
a spring welling up in a dry landscape..

The door to her
                          bedroom closes.