Do you ever wake up a little shaken
By questions of identity that sprouted in your mind during the night?
Wondering who made the rules that you follow (usually) and do you follow them for yourself or someone else (who?)
Compelled by the urge to examine every rule in order to decide which ones to break but daunted by the demands
Petrified and tantalized by the possibility of change
What is it called
when you’ve been
hiding inside
for so long
that when it’s safe
to emerge
you are reluctant
to embrace
your freedom
not quite
trusting
the invitation
What’s the word
for when you
can only
sit on a bench
watching people
who are probably
your friends
but whom you can’t
quite recognize
talk to each other
and laugh
you assume
they are smiling
too
What does it mean
when you’ve
forgotten
how to make
polite conversation
at a gathering of
more than
three people
when most
of the people
seem extraneous
and make you feel
awkward and
ill-equipped
for the world
How do you
follow the rules
when they are
constantly
being rewritten
how do you know
which ones to
obey and
which ones to
ignore
Where do you
find the strength
required
to survive
in the wild
when you’ve
become accustomed
to shuffling
back and forth
in your
designated
enclosure
littered with
all the evidence
of living
© Betsy Rosenblatt Rosso
April 2021
Breathing is a little bit easier
Though all my ads
are for better masks
so I can keep my air
to myself and not inhale yours
Yet still I smile
You can see it
In my blue eyes
And their attendant wrinkles
At home we make each other laugh
We make art
We make up words
We make mistakes
We apologize
We rewind
And start over
We stay in our pajamas
Until getting dressed
becomes absolutely necessary
We must still hibernate
In our homemade cave
Which has certainly seen
cleaner days
But finally, we know that
spring is coming
Even if it takes until fall to arrive
We know emerging from
This claustrophobic
underground
Will take time
For some, a lifetime
Costing copious tears and
Sacrificial sweat
and innocent blood
that’s already been shed
And we will make it through
Make it up as we go along
Make it better than the broken truth
Make good
On our undelivered promises
To each other
Make space for all the voices
To be heard
Even when it means quieting our own
Make room for all the people
At the welcome table
Make a new way
One day we will take off our masks
And see each other clearly
And savor sharing the same sweet air
© Betsy Rosenblatt Rosso
January 2021
I give myself unlimited chances
and infinite wishes
That I can choose to grant
I cultivate curiosity
exchange skepticism for wonder
I create simply for creation’s sake
Offering the same opportunity to others
I draw with a thick black marker (chisel tip) the delineation between me and you
And I will shimmer and shine in my own space while you do as you wish in yours
I have heard that the cracks are where the light comes in
And in the places we were broken we are stronger
That’s what the poets say
But someone has to sweep up the pieces, to find every last one, and set to work with toothpicks and superglue
Because we the people are shattered, scattered, smashed to bits
According to the sages
our scars make us who we are
But to have a scar we must stop the bleeding and heal the wound.
For now the blood still flows
the wounds are open
the battle continues
Invocations 