Poetry: Kadosh Baruch Hu


Open my lips, I whisper, closing my eyes to look for you.
But all I see is the inside of my eyelids,
screen of the 19 inch black and white television of my childhood,
the knob stuck on a channel that doesn’t come in.

And yet, I turn to you.
Not turning really, but
I back-float and you hover above me,
I am staring out the window of the train at the seagulls
and the passing mounds of municipal waste and you follow me like the moon.

Kadosh Baruch Hu.

That is your name.
Not translated “holy, blessed”
but set apart, revered.

Kadosh Baruch Hu.
Set apart, revered.
It must be lonely.

Kadosh Baruch Hu,
To be alive in your world is to be umbilical corded and to be belly-buttoned and to be umbilical corded again.

Kadosh Baruch Hu,
You are like a Spanish love song in which presence and absence
pass by one another on the sidewalk and exchange glances.

And speaking of music, I thank you for being just a song away. Birds, frogs, squirrels, bats, all creatures who contributed ingredients to the first human song, how that all happened, rhythm and melody, yeah, if that was what you were aiming for, wow, and even if it wasn’t, just an unexpected byproduct, still, wow, wow, wow and thank you.

The things I am supposed to say to you: You gird me with strength, you remove slumber from my eyes, you support my steps, you lift me up, give me energy when I am weary.

What I really say before you: that there is nothing to say.

Please accept my humming and off-key melodies, my sighs and my silence.

And when my lips open to say:

Kadosh, Kadosh, Kadosh,

May I elevate just a little closer to your distant and dreamy kingdom.

– Daniel S. Brenner

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