poem

Today, I Was.

Today, I was.

When I am doing,

I am whole:

I am propelling,

I am hurrying,

I am moving,

I am shining.

When I am still,

I only am.

When my hands are empty,

When my soul is hurting,

When the world is dark,

When the world is silent,

G-d is beckoning.

He is calling me back to being,

He is handing me a gift

To return.

To just be.

I believe I need to shine,

But perhaps,

I need to just be.

If I am waning,

Am I really here?

Who am I?

If I am not doing,

What am I here for?

For the givers,

for the doers,

this is sacred work.

My worth lies not in what I can give.

My worth is here all along,

In the waxing and the waning.  

The sun is the show stopper,

The main event,

Yet the sun is burning itself,

To remain alive.

The sun can only give.

The moon can give.

The moon can receive.

The moon can be seen.

The moon can simply exist.

The moon waxes,

And it wanes.

The moon doesn’t need to shine

to be worthy

of its place in the sky.

I am moon.

I am not always whole

But I am always here. 

I am holy.

For I am human.

Inspired by listening to two “Human and Holy” podcasts back to back, the first with Chana Margulies and the second with Rivky Kaplan, on a bus ride back to Brooklyn.

–

Etti Krinsky

Photo by Luke Stackpoole on Unsplash

A Sunflower Grows In Brooklyn

A single sunflower

Stands in the wind,

Bending, but never breaking,

On a corner in Brooklyn.

Surrounded by concrete,

It stands in defiance

Of every reason

Why it shouldn’t be.

From my window

Across the street

I see a sunflower

One single sunflower

And it whispers to me

Of hope,

Of belief,

Of bravery.

It questions not

If it belongs,

If its time has passed,

If others believe in it.

It knows its purpose

Lives on

And so it too,

Lives on.

This single sunflower,

Across from my bedroom window,

In a building in Brooklyn,

Has persevered,

Has been pushed to the brink,

Has survived floodwaters

And harsh winds,

Yet it stands.

Blooming.

Perhaps stronger

Than it ever has

Before.

–

Etti Krinsky

Photo by Conner Baker on Unsplash

This Garden

I’ve been dabbling
in positivity

seeing the sun rays
and the way the rain
waters the grass
and snow creates hills
to sled down.

I’ve been dabbling
in focusing
on the good

and knowing everything happens
for a reason
and every reason
is truly good
deep down good
all-around good.

Positivity sometimes feels
like playing pretend

dressing up
making something look
different than it actually is
but I’m learning
that the truth
is the opposite.

This world is good,
it is,
even though there is so much pain,
the people,
they are good.

I spend so much time
thinking about how
messed up this world is
how many things are wrong
how many systems are crumbling
it starts to feel
like a thousand bricks are falling
and I’m trying to stop it
by holding out my hands.

But what if
one brick
is all I need to catch

One step
today
One step
tomorrow

Because this world is worth saving
these people are worth loving
there is no such thing
as surrender
when you’re talking about
a world
that is a garden.

-Etti Krinsky

Photo by Florian GIORGIO on Unsplash

searching for you

i’m searching

searching for the thread of humanity

that links us all together

the thread that reminds us

that we all need food to survive

and a bed at the end of the day.

that

we all need people to love

and to love us.

we all have stared at an ocean

or a burning fire

or heard the rain on the window

and breathed easier

for a few moments.

we all have a favorite food

and a night that we remember fondly.

we all know what it feels like

to stub a toe

or to nurse

a broken heart.

we all have hummed a song

not knowing any of the words

and have burnt our fingers

while preparing food

for someone

we love.

we all have cried

and we all have laughed

we all know the meaning of loss

and birth

and growth.

and when the world erupts in flames

and we become enemies

somehow it seems that

it doesn’t matter

that we are all human.

we’re tired.

can’t we find some other way

to make our voices heard

without simply raising our voices

above

the

rest?

i’m searching for humanity

in a world of humans.

—

Etti Krinsky

Overnight: A Poem

I haven’t had much to say

Because words feel useless
In a world that has become so small

Overnight.

I haven’t had much to say
Because for some, the ground is crumbling,
And I’m technically okay,
Happy, even,
While some people’s lives
Are turning to ash,

Overnight.

I haven’t had much to say,
Because these days I am afraid of my phone,
In the morning, I don’t like to look,
At who and what we lost

Overnight.

I haven’t had much to say,
Because whenever the phone rings,
My heart drops,
Wondering if we’re about to hear
About a nightmare
That developed

Overnight.

I haven’t had much to say,
As I quarantine with family
That I love
And that love me,
and I think of those who are alone
Or worse, with those they hate,
Or worse, with those they
Fear.
And I pray
That somehow
All of this gets resolved
Overnight.
–
Etti Krinsky

Photo by Rosie Kerr on Unsplash

An Ode to My Boys
The oldest grandchild in my immediate family was a boy. The most recent grandchild, born this week, is a boy.
The six grandchildren born between the two also…have been boys.

I’ve got eight nephews, and this poem is an ode to the beauty that they are in my life.

To my first one:
Tonight, as I read you a story in your bed,
My mind wandered as you leaned your almost-seven-year-old head on my shoulder.
I felt your little sighs and the little struggles on your big heart,
As you prepared to go to sleep, a big brother for the 4th time.
It was a long book, and I asked if you were ready to press pause,
And right before you said yes, you said quietly “can you just read one more page?”
And my heart split, and I read three more pages.
You have younger brothers, four of them now,
And three little cousins who live past the hay-filled farms and old American towns on the other side of this country.
There’s 8 little guys in all.
And my love, for each, continues to grow.
For the little eyes that blink awake in my arms,
And the little eyes that blink shut as I sit nearby,
And the little hands that squeeze tight,
And the tighter hugs when it’s only been a couple of days.
And the giggles, and the jokes that really make me laugh,
And the long talks about space, and the Mayor, and saving the day.
For the FaceTimes, and the naps on my lap.
For the exploration, and the trust I see in your sweet little eyes.
For the way you reach out your hands and ask to play.
For the songs we sing together, for the inside jokes we share, for the little whispered secrets.
And for the moment your hand grips mine as we walk down the street,
my heart not ready for the fact that any day now you’ll realize you’re too big for that.
And the best part about loving all of you
Is sharing you with all your aunties and uncles.
Because it means you’ll always be loved.
And you’ll never doubt
That the world has your back
And that you’re capable of everything.

To my newest one:
Last night, I sat near your oldest brother,
Waiting for his many thoughts to drift
Into peaceful slumber
And tears found my eyes.
My heart swelled at the thought
Of you: my newest boy,
Ready to join the chorus of little boy voices
And my tears fell
But they were happy tears, baby,
And they filled eyes that will watch you grow,
My heart barely containing my love for you,
And all my little boys.

 

 

24/52

Photo by Dragos Gontariu on Unsplash

Bare Feet

What is it about an airport,

that everyone’s soul shines through?

I see it through the little holes in their socks,

and their bare feet at security.

Who doesn’t think to wear socks on airport day?

I see it through their sweet voices,

explaining to their five-year-old,

why must we go through this security line –

“to check if anyone has snakes or spiders in their bags, dear”

I can see a world in which that is why we must all bare our feet

for TSA to peek through our shoes

and find our secrets.

I can see the soul in the woman whom I’m begging

to switch my middle seat to an aisle seat,

I see her long day, her long future,

I’m tired, but so is she, and I am not the first, nor the last, to beg her for something that is not in her control.

I see the soul in the man who sits beside me,

who talks about the old days

when corporate airlines didn’t charge for hot meals

and headphones.

I smile at him and I reach out to buy some headphones because I’m not doing this middle seat flight solo. 

What is it about airports?

They say airports are a no-mans-land, no country can claim it, and perhaps that’s what it is.

None of us are home, yet none of us are lost, we are all in between the beginning and end of a journey.

And we’re in our socks.

For some of us, it’s bare feet.

And we all hope there are no snakes in someone else’s bag.

 

 

19/52.

Photo by chuttersnap on Unsplash

Powerless.

Powerless.

That is how I feel as I whisper psalms.
Hands tied behind my back,
As I beg G-d to chill, the, freak, out.
Exhausted.
That is how I feel in my every bone,
Heavy with the weight of the tears
That refuse to come out.
I’m aching; aching; aching.
My stomach is in knots,
Where will the next fracture in our earth occur?
Who will be the next to break?
How do we live in a world so filled to the brim with pain?
I pray; I pray; I pray.
17/52.

Memory Lane

A walk down memory lane
can be filled with pot holes
and thorny bushes.
Sometimes,
I close my eyes,
trying to avoid the things that hurt me.
But,
when you walk down memory lane,
guided by one of the people
who was there with you,
someone who
recognizes the same cracks in the road,
and can remind you of your voice,
and who you used to be,
the walk
becomes filled with beauty.
You can remember the flowers,
and the sound of silence,
becomes sweet,
rather than scary,
and the walk down memory lane,
with those special souls,
shows you the length of how far you’ve walked,
how far you’ve come
and how much you’ve grown.

12/52.

Photo by Simon Rae on Unsplash

It’s Midnight

 

at midnight, the world quiets

the flowers close

a baby cries

a wolf howls, maybe,

in the distance.

 

someone turns in her bed

her mind awake

with millions of colors

and millions of dreams

a future calls, maybe,

in the distance.

 

someone lays in her bed

thinking about 6am

and the to-do list

and the endless journey

there seems to be

to tomorrow.

 

It’s midnight,

and everything is dark,

and the future

is hard to see.

 

5/52.

Photo by nrd on Unsplash