N a p a
l m H e a
l t h
S p a
: R e
p o r
t 2 0
0 9
LESLÉA NEWMAN
First Love
At fourteen my mother cuts a sharp
figure: in sleeveless white blouse,
denim pedal pushers, black sneakers
and no socks, she is already tougher
than the overcooked meat
she refuses to eat
when my grandmother
pushes it toward her every night.
“Take a bite. So stubborn you are,”
my grandmother shrieks, throwing up
her hands in disgust at her daughter
who—is it possible?—is even more
impossible than she was as a child.
But now hours remain
before supper, the sun still high
in the sky an unblinking eye
that can’t see my mother hidden
behind the brick apartment building
she calls home along with half
of
My grandmother who has eyes
in the back of her head
can’t see her either. This secret
place is my mother’s room
of her own. She leans against
cool brick, the scratchy hardness
a comfort to her bare arm
and lights up the first cigarette
of her life. It tastes good
this forbidden bitterness
this sweet piece of heat
held between two fingers
slender as the long white stem
of chalk her French teacher
slashes across the board
showing my mother what to do
with her accent. No namby-pamby
goody goody Mademoiselle, my mother
inhales like a pro, exhales with a sigh
of deep satisfaction like someone
languishing in bed, someone who doesn’t
have homework to do, dishes to wash,
a mother to ignore, a life
to escape. It’s love at first
puff, this Chesterfield King
and my tough little mother.
She tries blowing a smoke ring,
succeeds, watches it vanish
into thin air, wishes she could
follow. Inhales again, lets smoke
stream out of both nostrils
like the fire-breathing dragon
in a story book she read
long ago when she was a child.
Takes another drag, blows it out
retreats behind a cloud
of blue-grey smoke that softens
the world in front of her burning
eyes. Keeps going until she is down
to a nub, stubs it out underfoot
instantly lights up another, thinks:
all right, I can do this. And does.
The Wood
Gatherer Speaks
Once when the Israelites were in the wilderness,
they came upon a man
gathering wood on the
sabbath day. Those who found
him as he was
gathering wood brought him
before Moses, Aaron
and the whole community. He was placed in
custody, for it had not been
specified what should
be done to him. Then the Lord
said to Moses, “The
man shall be put to death:
the whole community
shall pelt him with stones
outside the camp.” So
the whole community took him
outside the camp
and stoned him to death—as
the Lord had
commanded Moses. (Numbers
15:32-15:36)
It was a sunny day
It was a cloudy day
It was early morning
It was late afternoon
I was gathering wood to build a fire
to warm myself
I was gathering wood to build a fire
to cook myself a meal
I was gathering wood to build a fire
that was never lit
yet burns for all time
I still tasted the bitterness of slavery
and did not care about keeping the Sabbath
I cared about keeping the Sabbath so much
I sacrificed my life so others would remember
I was selfish
I was self-less
Some say my name is Tzelofechad
and my five brave daughters
Machlah, No’ah, Choglah, Milkah and Tirtzah
are my legacy
Others insist I am a nameless man
known only for the worst thing I did
on the worst day of my life
Here is the truth:
I was gathering wood on the Sabbath Day
I was warned three times to stop
I was gathering wood on the Sabbath Day
no one said a word
I was brought before Moses and Aaron
They put me in custody
Then Moses spoke with God
God said to Moses, Remember the Sabbath Day and keep it holy
God said to Moses Thou shalt not kill
God said to Moses Take this man outside the camp
Have the whole community stone him to death
Moses said to God
Pardon the iniquity of this man
according to Your great kindness
as You have forgiven the people
ever since
Moses said: nothing
When I heard my fate
I stood still as a stone
I was struck first
by a rock
the size of the apple
Eve shared with Adam
I was struck first
by a small pebble
that was later placed
on my grave
The first stone
was thrown
by the hand of a stranger
The first stone
was thrown
by the hand of a friend
The first stone
was thrown
by the hand of my daughter
The first stone
was thrown
b’ yad Moshe
The stones came hard and fast as rain
The stones came slowly, a lifetime apart
I stood upright
I fell to the ground
I cursed God
whom I did not believe in
I prayed to God
whom I loved with all my heart
As I lie on the earth
bruised and broken
a grasshopper leapt near my face
looked into my eyes
and sang a song so sweet
it broke my heart
and healed it
The grasshopper died beside me
The grasshopper hopped away
My life ended thousands of years ago
I am alive today
I gather wood on the scrolls of your Torah
I dance on the fringes of your tzitzit
I wander through the corners of your mind
as you sit in shul on Shabbat
and contemplate
the meaning of your life
the meaning of mine
[Poems reprinted with permission of the author
from Nobody’s Mother, Orchard House
Press, 2008.]