August 06

Tisha B'Av Alicia Jo Rabins

I wake up in a Bushwick loft on Tisha B’Av
         the safe
                looks at me
with its one notched and numbered eye
winking: remember the lifetimes before
you,
child.

Factory,
storehouse,
temple.

I wake up in Brooklyn mourning
         for the wealth that was
                 waking up
         in quiet Jerusalem.

To stop eating and drinking is to grow unmoored
not sure if the sun is more
idea or light.

Outside,
against the fence a street shrine
has sprouted, a tree of candles and
photos, “descansa en paz Jose
mi caramelo."

Today we are all lighting candles
mourning something.