by Rick Black (Arlington, VA)
I watch others pass by, pushing strollers,
carrying tallit bags, wearing yarmulkes.
And I imagine them in shul, reciting ancient prayers,
their hands uplifted to God.
And yet I would rather be here,
bent prostrate, nurturing the arugula seedlings.
Hunched over in torn jeans and invisible phylacteries,
I worship with them daily, my co-worshippers.
I use my hands to dig into the soil,
to clear away stones.
Rick Black is an award-winning book artist and poet. His artist books are represented in private and public collections, including the Library of Congress, Yale University and the U.S. Holocaust Memorial Museum. A journalist for many years, Rick’s poetry collection, Star of David, won Poetica Magazine’s 2012 poetry chapbook contest for contemporary Jewish writing. A reading of Star of David was held in the Middle Eastern & African Division of the Library of Congress. He recently published a new collection, Two Seasons in Israel: A Selection of Peace and War Haiku.
The Jewish Writing Project 
I understand this short reverie. Rick, I hope you also will have a chance to intertwine the two, as I don’t see them as separate ways of bringing godliness into our lives. Yashir Koach!
I’m right there. Simply—and well—said.
from Rick: Thanks, David…your reply made me think of the poem in a different way…my hands reaching down to be “grounded” while others reach up to be “grounded,” as it were, in their prayers and religious faith…yet both actions are or could be prayers in and of themselves.
I am right there.
Can’t believe I didn’t see this earlier, Bruce…Love the imagery!. Everyone who feels the need to pray, prays