The Tower Journal

Ann Minoff


Winter

the morning tide captures drifting ice
piles of meaningless resolve
dragging back to the sea
a parade of frozen white
have I turned away from love
again
is it too late
my mother is dying
and like the river ice
shaped by unseen forces
another winter storm
rolls past my window




Unwind

red and yellow leaves unwind
returning to their roots
after they rise one last time
wrinkled and brown
flapping
blocking traffic
airborne
on my windshield
in my face
unlike my mother’s hands
curled inside themselves
shriveled, bony
she sleeps on my chest
holding on




Our Rabbi

diminishes a lifetime
with accustomed bravado
dividing his synagogue into distinct camps
a battle of personal hurts and imagined slights
on Friday he sings the prayers
all the longing of a conflicted heart
on its knees before the universal constant
and each one of us feels
heard
opened
is nothing simple


Open

I’m looking down
between my ribs
a few incandescent memories
that flash intermittently
between radio announcements
and Macy’s specials
a continuous play of colorless regrets
love lost and all that
a space of closed doors
and unfinished sentences




Fog

the city disappears behind heavy fog
street corners and human traffickers
poets and Times Square flash
cars on the West Side Highway
the Seahawks win the big event
my friend celebrates by drowning in beer
are we all running from something
greater
some one thing
that will turn us upside down
like possums
hanging by our tails



Copyright © 2014 Ann Minoff

Ann MinoffAnn Minoff graduated from New York University with a degree in philosophy and continued her education at the National College of Chiropractic in Illinois. She received her Doctorate of Chiropractic in 1982. She currently teaches classes on Qigong and Kabbalah.

The Tower Journal
Spring/Summer 2014