gravity

photoart: ralph murre

gravity

by Elizabeth Rosner

sometimes I am Jacob and

sometimes I am the angel and

always I am wrestling

with God or with the idea

of God or with the idea

of myself wrestling with God

(there is always a risk

in the naming of

things in the naming

of oneself)

the stones in my pockets

weighing me down

are also holding me

steady

angels have no pockets and therefore can float

while I, who resist floating,

watch them rise with

something like envy and

something like rage

who can float in a time

like this, when the past

is still close enough

to touch and the sounds

of weeping linger so

clearly

isn’t it our grief that makes us real

makes us dimensional,

heavy on the earth?

I think of my grandmother’s

sweet hand, the weight

of it as she stroked my hair

to say good-bye, giving me

comfort because she was

the one leaving,

and her hand rinsed

me like water,

like falling water

~ first published in Many Mountains Moving
and subsequently, in the author's collection,
GRAVITY (Atelier 26 Books)