There's a monthly Speaker's Night series at my shul, and this month the speaker will be me. This erev Shabbat we'll have kabbalat Shabbat services at 7pm, followed by a brief oneg and kiddush; at 8:15pm I'll read some of my poems, and maybe also talk a little bit about poetry and liturgy and how they intersect for me.
If you live nearby, or have any interest in spending this coming Shabbat in north Berkshire, please join us! (You can get directions by going here and clicking on the tab that says -- not surprisingly -- "directions.")
On Friday night, I'll be reading specifically from my Judaic work -- like these morning blessing poems, this new year's poem, this Torah poem. But as a teaser for this reading, I'll post one of my poems that isn't religious, per se, written five years ago yesterday, and posted today with much love.
THE MAGIC OF AMAZING WOK
I've been jonesing for hot and sour soup all day
but when I scan the takeout menu
I find myself ordering Mongolian Beef.
Ulan Bataar is thirteen hours ahead;
I can't imagine what passes
for breakfast there, and even if it were
the dinner hour something tells me
you wouldn't actually be eating anything
like what I get in my white paper carton.
Still, just saying the words raises a flush
of blood to my cheeks, as if eating so-called
Mongolian anything in this New England town
on the eve of our fourth wedding anniversary
could make me, just for an instant, closer to you.
Hope to see some of y'all at synagogue tomorrow night!