By David Karpel
Gd, I don’t want to talk to You today.
Today I was late for work.
I couldn’t tear myself away from the news.
Pesha and Eldad and their four boys.
Hadassah and Levi and their white page future.
Friends, family, brothers and sisters.
All of them in imminent danger from missiles,
from weaponized cars, from bullets, from blades.
No place is safe.
And I am at a desk.
There are books, papers needing grading,
cold water, hot coffee,
an apple.
I am enraged.
Not a good place to be
when high school girls
are depending on you
to teach them,
to learn
from ‘To Kill a Mockingbird’
or “Do Not Go Gentle
Into That Good Night.”
I am enraged.
I blasted Metallica on the way in.
Wasn’t enough.
I screamed my throat raw at a red light.
Wasn’t enough.
Helpless, paralyzed,
with a heart pounding rage against my rib cage.
My sternum hurts.
And all I can do is pray?
Gd, I don’t want to talk to You today.
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