I fail. Every morning shade drawn,
hair brushed, swaying, I can’t
fasten to the words, Hebrew letters
breathe, young sparrows in my palm.
Yes, calm stands up in the coolness
of morning, light pushes, falls
from under the shade’s edges.
A skittering stops me at each syllable. I turn,
check my hair in the mirror, the line of my skirt,
imagine someone watching. I breathe
being observed by an admirer, my mind
startles from words my tongue makes
in the four minutes I give
each morning to speak to no human.
From “Morning Prayer” (Sheep Meadow Press, 2005).
Eve Grubin is the author of “Morning Prayer” (Sheep Meadow Press, 2005 ). She teaches at NYU in London and is the poet-in-residence at the London School of Jewish Studies.
