Woke up

head heavy and pounding

as if I’d drunk something stronger than seven glasses of ice water

during a heat wave

disoriented and guilty about

sins I committed in my sleep–

stealing the keys to their boat

(and then stealing the boat)

facing the reproachful glare of the father whose children I babysat in 1993

scrambling through snowy woods using dark magic to turn small Ferraris into piles of blue and orange wigs, curly

(don’t ask questions)

Stumbled downstairs eager to

eat the saltines left over from the

video game breakfast of two little boys

“You should try them, Mommy, they’re delicious.”

as if they would calm my nerves like they calmed my stomach when I was a kid

© Betsy Rosenblatt Rosso
July 2019

He asked me in the car,
“What is sand made of?”

And I said I didn’t know.

I said I thought it was just part of the earth,
like dirt, and trees, and mountains.

He asked me if it came out of the ocean
and I said no, I didn’t think so.

He said he thought it was made of
tiny pieces of smashed-up seashells.

Maybe some of the sand is tiny seashells,
I conceded.

“That’s definitely what it is,” he said firmly.

This place seems as good as any to see a ghost
this tantalizing space between vulnerable and safe
the constant creaking of wood
wind shaking the tops of trees
the insistent clank of boats knocking against their moorings
lapping of the dark water on the banks of the invisible canal
distant chorus of frogs
I can see no one 
but I am surrounded by the night

All evening while everyone else was 
playing and eating and swimming and reading bedtime stories
I was plastered to the bed by a migraine
only vaguely aware of anything else
Still more hours lost to pain

And now, while everyone else sleeps
I keep watch from the screened porch
of someone else’s house
who I have never met

Betsy Rosenblatt Rosso
July 2019

This was my meditation and prayer during our worship service today at UUCA.

I invite you to close your eyes and put your feet on the floor
Envision how they are connected to the Earth
how all of us are connected to the Earth 
as the Earth tilts toward the sun 
Think about the distance those rays of light travel 
and how we are illuminated

We are in a moment of movement
A subtle shift from light to dark
It is the end of the school year
which can mean liberation and popsicles 
or an endless expanse of long days 
and aimless children 
or sweaty summer jobs

The switch in our collective consciousness 
from business and busyness 
to the smell of saltwater or the swimming pool 
or simply falling asleep 
listening to the baseball game 
and the whir of the ceiling fan

Yet we do not and we cannot rest in the shade 
for too long, 
knowing our brothers and sisters and children 
are suffering
We bear witness to the families at the border 
torn apart and trapped in cages 
by our own government
May these children and their parents 
be made free and made whole
May their lives be illuminated

We bear witness to our LGBTQIA siblings 
who live in fear for their safety and their lives
even as we celebrate Pride
we mourn victims of murder 
May our siblings be made free and whole 
May their lives be illuminated

We bear witness to the everyday sorrows
The beloved friend disappearing beneath disease
The broken relationship we struggle to repair
The next step we are afraid to take

May we face each day 
with compassion
with courage
with grace
May our love be illuminated. 
And may we generously share 
our sunshine 
or our shade 
with whoever needs it

© Betsy Rosenblatt Rosso
June 2019

I woke up slowly

Struggling to swim to the surface

Of my subconscious

Dragged down deeper by

Bewilderment

Riding in someone else’s car with my unusually calm sister driving while we hop curbs and mow down security robots, accumulating electronic traffic tickets that we leave on the lawn of a stranger named John Heard.

Imaginary betrayals

My relatives both living and dead complaining that I never help and that I’m the most selfish cousin and an “East Coast educated elitist” which leaves me crushed, trying but failing to count how many times I’ve washed the dishes and desperate to demonstrate my unselfishness, but I cannot because I am invisible.

I thought they loved me.

When I am finally able to open my eyes, the danger and the lies and the hurt wash away into the waves.

Mostly.

I’m left brushing bits of sand off my body, blinking as I try to bring into focus

Who I really am.

Betsy Rosenblatt Rosso

June 2019