WAITING OUTSIDE THE U.S. CAPITOL
WHERE SHE LIES IN STATE
The only tired I was, was tired of giving in.
after the first three hours
the temperature dropped to visible breath.
my fall coat no longer protected and my toes
went numb so i tried to transcend time
by thumbing a rose quartz bracelet
each bead proof of my will to persist,
and i finally got why mom always said
standing appels* for hours was a worse sentence
than the death of her childhood.
in the muddy field where thousands of souls made solitary
by the cold snaked around a makeshift fence,
i found a handful of warmth, a single ruby glove.
i practiced standing meditation following the ringing
in my ears to keep my mind from wondering why
i was on this line, not in my down-covered bed
when i'd see the coffin just as well in the newspaper
in the morning. each time i lifted my sole i knew
i was one step closer to the dome with 108 windows
like a rosary i could pray with my eyes.
it was dawn when i finally circulated once around
the ceremonial space then down to the crypt below
where i begged that her being where she was
would bless where she was laying—and all of us
who'll never have moments like hers on the bus
will still find something worth standing up for.
* In the Nazi concentration camps, inmates had to stand appels—
a protracted roll call—twice a day regardless of weather or exhaustion.
Some gave birth to babies buried on the spot. Many others dropped dead
during the hours-long appels or were killed if they couldn't maintain an
(Originally posted April 27, 2008)
To contact Yael Flusberg send an email to: Yael36@aol.com