Mizmor L'David Anthology
Steven Pelcman has published three volumes of poetry and one novel. He has been nominated for two Pushcart Prizes. He resides in Europe. “Capturing the voices of humor or pain, making the small moments epic and witnessing the trials and tribulations of the human experience which captures the heart and mind is what drives the work.”
(For Bonnie)
Remember when we sat
at the den windows
and wiped the dew away
looking through the winter haze
and painting smiley faces
when we saw
a whisper of fur
cushioned into a ball
fleeting across the bristled grass
as its footprints are buried
beneath the wet earth
nudging at the hard snow
and like time itself
it ran beyond our vision
into a blinding sun
and later when we sneaked back
to see it outrun
the moonlit layer of ice
becoming a twittering shadow,
an inescapable ghost, and we
giggled as if we had seen a
dream in motion,
a performance like the cartoons
we had watched on Saturday mornings.
Mother still hummed the Jewish melodies
though her deformed back reminded
her of the beatings and the family
ghosts she would tell us about and
how she had lived through the torture
of being hated and prepared for death.
And we took in her voice of pain
thinking we could escape
that day in winter wanting to see
if rabbits would come closer to
our warm brick home and chimney
smoke that marked the cold sky.
For days we waited and returned
to the den windows hoping
something would change and that
we would understand
how animals think and
why they run away
but we never saw them again
yet mother never stopped
humming, and carried on
no matter how high the snow,
smiling away in pain
matching our disappointment.
Sometimes, I still put my hand
on a frozen window, one hand
over the other thinking you
are still there and I can almost
hear mother’s voice and wonder
where are all the rabbits.