Yorzeit
It’s my father’s Yorzeit,
anniversary of his death
according to the Jewish lunar calendar.
In three houses spaced across this continent
my siblings and I light special candles,
wax in a glass, remembrance.
We swap stories, questions, tears,
sometimes laughter, remember
how we kept vigil at his bedside.
How the night before he died
he sat up and said
I can only take you this far.
When I was little he swung me up
and settled me on his shoulders.
I remember his warm hands holding my ankles
the smell of Vitalis as I wrapped my arms
around his forehead.
I remember the wind in my curls,
how different the world looked from my high perch
scary, yet how safe,
the sure swing of his gait moving forward.
Dad, I whisper, you carried us
over continents
for decades.
You still do.
“Yortzeit” is the Yiddish spelling and pronunciation of Yarhzeit.
Winter Dream
-after Li-Young Lee
What flows out of my dreams
to meet me on the other side
of night?
What voices do I hear
from another room? From
another tomb?
Are they muffled by red brick
walls? Are they electronic TV
voices setting the plaster on edge?
What is the title
winter knows me by?
Is it Shivering? Is it
Taking Small Steps Over Ice?
Is it Blinking At The Sun’s
Muted Eye?
What was in the letter
my father never wrote?
Was it my girl, you
broke my heart? Was it
my girl, why didn’t you marry
a man who could take care of you?
Was it my girl
I am proud of you?
I Love you?
What was in the letter
I never wrote back?
Vivienne Popperl lives in Portland, Oregon. She finds nourishment and hope in nature
and poetry. Her work has appeared in several publications including VoiceCatcher,
Willawaw Journal, Cirque, The Clackamas Literary Review, and The Timberline Review.
