Yarhzeit

in the grassy clearing on the ridge You are
Cloud Pollen in my nostrils  I apologize
I can name only mockingbird mating hawk
though I have no snapshot of him
in short pants licking an ice cream cone
I weep for Yankel Rosenbaum  scholar  religious man
murdered near the street where
my great-grandfather owned a herring stand
"why are you doing this to me?" Yankel looked
straight into the eyes of the boys who beat him

            Los Angeles burning 
            women  babies on their backs
            grab cans of food from shattered stores
            students complain of dust dangerous parking
            throat parched  unprepared
            to discuss Latasha Harlin her ghost
            beside me clutching Bible and bouquet
            I move to the open doorway listen
            for Your voice in rumbling earth gunshot           

descending I lose the trail
push through thorny brush  dry branches scratching
suck cough drops  hope the road from the water tower
will not take me too far out of the way
stumble through citrus groves 
a stream appears a bridge a man offering a scroll

somehow safely home
on the anniversary of my best friend's death
I clean for shabbat
pray  that Your face will shine through
the fine wood of the furniture I polish
light candles for all fallen before ripening
wonder why You
led me to the orchard
to bite a sour orange  seek direction