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. ...
