The Braille of Evening by Judy Kronenfeld

The last coins of sunlight flash while I read…half-read…
And I’m still inside, waiting—

preparing for something that takes infinite preparation,
yet may reveal itself at any moment…if I am waiting.

An impish prof once ambled towards me—surrounded by books and ash at a dank desk—
and said “It’s the cocktail hour! What are you waiting for?”

My ancestors in their black coats and fur hats
were lost in thickets of holy letters, waiting

for Moshiach. Their pages crumbled, their skin
yellowed to parchment while they were waiting.

The quickly-brushed luster of the day is drying,
going flat, but I am still waiting.

I imagine leaf-shadow lacework on the grass,
the dog dozing in the sun—no longer waiting

for me—and seeing these so clearly, lift my head,
but cannot read the darkness-gathering trees.

From: https://silverbirchpress.wordpress.com/2021/05/11/the-braille-of-evening-by-judy-kronenfeld-i-am-still-waiting-series/

Date: 2013

By: Judy Kronenfeld (19??- )

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