The baby was named

The baby was named…

The baby was to be named

with enough tradition to

satisfy the hunger for legacy

The baby was to be named

for my father adored and

gone physically living in my

soul – this baby was going to

be named for him – with swirl

of a silver-threaded tallis and

a rabbi versed in modern ways

smiling in new traditions and

assembled love – the baby was

named –in his home - echoes-

 proud, persistent, prevailing - 

footsteps of those who climbed

Massada, walked to gas chambers

marched for civil rights so that this

day and this child could be born and

be named – this child born into a new

world –where too often respect lays tossed

on a trash-heap of indifference, this newborn

of caring, of love, of tradition, of reverence

for a man, for decency, for sanctity of all life

the baby was named with the name

meaning “lion” and in the twinkle of

this innocent’s infant eyes I watched

the world roar in triumphant survival

and hope

respected

rewritten

reborn 

This poem written in response to Midweek Motif's theme of "respect" at Poets United. ...