Lynn Strongin
If It Is True That All Jewish People love almond

It goes without saying we jews embrace everybody’s smoky midnight kitchen:
But why love the hardship of my life? It is true
That bitterness warps a person.
I give the brother & sister nothing
Since the best that I can give would elude them.
The shoehorn bought you is translucent yellow horn & very long.
Parted down the middle like the red sea             the girl’s hair would be
Beautiful as the justborn.
So the little birds cry hunger            cry rain
The fresh fallen moisture or the old gnawing in the gut?
Dreams in a mirror
Dreams in the skein of iced pond This week began with loosening a wheelchair brake
all but airbrusht from history’it’s easy to arm-wrestle to the ground one without arms.
The auto companies’ Hour too has come.
The stunning death of a financial assistance bill
Prompts us to become more spiritual.
A shut plant in Ohio:             a shut song, a hooded gun:
A close-doored room at the end of the hall
allowed Father & me
To talk it out
Till dawn. All. All. 

So Much Arises From Our Deep & mournful intimacy

Why was girlhood abuse held so long, so deep in secrecy?
We cannot count on things being swallowed by obscurity
The bright tucks of the day:
Line-drawing of a church vault
The structure, the weight behind the weightless anonymity.
Much is obscure.             Little is clear:
Accounts are Braille & frozen.
Those who can walk but can’t pole vault have always envied me:
The little boy in Sweet Pea
While she bent over mother’s albums, moma bipolar, goes more gingerly:
Unlocking past. In alto Sweet Charity,
In soprano the artist’s daughter says, “You are absolutely connoted to the necessary.”
Time wasting while we wait for ice to thaw, a long turmoil, I twirl the penny cautiously: the stalk of glass:
An endless turnaround. Tumble up your fallen hopes.             Red flares about the home, I press in the
door, dark as a stone:            a spirit bubble the mood swings.
The tin of silver in the hallway shadow-wing:, the way candle wax burns a Sabbath of the mind.
Guarded with the peace dove, in precision the opposite of Prussian, in love Slavic:  Passion.