Yom Kippur

All Poems, Holidays, Jewish Holidays, Rosh Hashanah, Seasons, Spirituality, Wisdom, Yom Kippur

What Does It Mean?

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What does it mean when maple leaves blush red?
When oaks burn orange, yellow?
When daylight ebbs?
Air nips the skin?
Students flock back to classes?
Tishrai overtakes Elul?
Babbles, squawks, buzzes, chirps, vibrations,
winds, rush forward to beckon the New Year.
Hundreds of preschooler whys usher in
Days of Awe.
Who really has answers?
Do they just arouse more questions?
Perhaps only questions humble us.
Steady us.
Propel us inward.
To do self-study.
Self-examination.
Self-care.
A sacred cocoon in which to rest, then emerge.
New eyes, new ears, new hands.
Balancing ourselves and those we care for.
And those to whom we owe amends.

Lynn Benjamin
August 29, 2021

All Poems, Holidays, Jewish Holidays, Natural Beauty, Spirituality, Yom Kippur

Today My Brain

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Today my brain is quiet, serene.
Perhaps the aftermath of being seen,
wanted last night.
Or maybe just the prelude to a holy day
that starts at sunset.
I don’t know which.
But calm fills my lungs with perfume, gratitude.
Eyes with beauty,  satisfaction.
Ears with song, reverence.
Hands with sensibility,  loving kindness.
Weeping blue atlas cedars,  hydrangea flowers
bow in prayer.
Invite me to do likewise,
to comply.
I vow I will.
Though instead of down,
head to sky.
A day of tranquility.
Abeyance of why.

Lynn Benjamin
September 15, 2021

 

Adult Children, All Poems, Babies, Birth, Birthdays, Family, Holidays, Miracles, Mother Love, Yom Kippur

Miracle

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Chilly mornings.
Shorter days.
Mums, pumpkins whisper Fall,
certain segue to Winter.
And yet, impaciens, roses, crape myrtle blossoms still abound, refusing to let go.
I wonder what it was like forty-seven years ago
when I gave birth to my first child.
Was it a day like this?
Crisp?
Sunny?
I don’t know.
I, inside a hospital room counting contractions.
Waiting.
Vaguely knowing it was Yom Kippur.
Fasting despite the holiday,
according to medical protocol.
My prayers were for labor to conclude.
For a healthy baby to be born.
For the start of a new journey as a family.
I saw no plants, no trees.
Heard no birds, no insects.
Only smells of alcohol, cleaning wipes.
Buzzes, beeps.
My husband’s voice.
The doctor’s.
And the words inside my head
focusing me,
steadying me until I heard your cry.
Small, fragile, bleating.
My body pulsed, quivered.
Senses awakened.
Spell broken.
Comprehension.
Miracle.

Lynn Benjamin
September 26, 2021

All Poems, Holidays, Jewish Holidays, Natural Beauty, Spirituality, Yom Kippur

Atonement

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There’s something different about  breezes in East Hampton.
More robust.
More confident.
Stirring  trees.
Making music.
Rattling.
Drumming.
Swaying.
Maybe they catch wind from the ocean nearby.
Or maybe they are overture to amends.
Accompaniments to the shofar.
Along with nighttime rumbles, natural fireworks.
Squalls to cleanse silver maples, oaks, pines, earth.
Souls of people on it.
How fitting!
Atonement.
Purification.
Prayers of blue jays, crows, cicadas
harmonize with rain.
A medley of sorts
with forgiveness, the refrain.
And then, the sun, warm and bright.
A miracle, this wet high holiday.
Lighting the path for travelers.
Guiding them on their way.

Lynn Benjamin
September 15, 2021