by Miriam Bassuk (Seattle, WA)
February 17th, my mother’s Yahrzeit.
I realized I had forgotten to light
the candle for my father on February 11th.
They died years apart, my father at 62,
several months before his early retirement,
my mother at 92, a mainstay in my world.
My father and I remained estranged.
He missed so many chances to be part
of my life—never came to my wedding,
my college graduation, or celebrated
the birth of our daughter, his only grandchild.
February 17th, I lit two candles chanted
the Kaddish for both parents, holy words
in Aramaic that are deeply etched
in every synagogue service. This ritual
binds me to my ancestors, sends shivers
down my spine as I reckon with shame
at the growing distance from my father.
There’s no accounting for the candles’
wax or for the duration of their burning.
One candle with barely a flicker,
while the other still flares two days later.
Who’s to say for which parent the candle
burns brighter?
Miriam Bassuk’s poems have appeared in Snapdragon, Borderless, 3 Elements Review, and The Jewish Writing Project. She was one of the featured poets in WA 129 project sponsored by Tod Marshall, the Washington State poet laureate. As an avid poet, she has been charting the journey of living in these uncertain times.
The Jewish Writing Project 