Monday Poetry Musing -- yom tov

Every morning we have tea, my husband and

me, this morning no different. I boil water—

Darjeeling for him, decaf chai for me. I fold

towels waiting for the water. One towel in and

sirens. In the city, on our phones—that fast drumbeat

sound that now I hear in every song. 7:25—we shuffle

our way down to the miklat. A neighbor comes out

of her door with wet hair and white terry cloth robe.

Boker tov we say. And smile weary smiles—it’s too

early in the day to be weary our smiles say. We all

take seats in the makeshift space of safety—the mother

and baby both with droopy eyes, the red-eyed

red-pajamad woman and her husband, us. We sit,

we wait. We wait for the boom. That says—we shot it

down. But there is no boom and tired of waiting we make

our way one by one back to our respective abodes. But

now it’s time to leave, too late for tea. I grab my shoes

and notice the dusty footprints—miklat dust. I laugh.

Easier than crying I guess. Grab my bag and head out.

Cross my street next to a black cat. Who waits

for me to cross—first. I wonder if it’s a sign. And later

at the market the cashier asks how I am. I say at least

they let us sleep in. He laughs and hands me my

organic blueberries. Smiles, I smile and say yom tov.