Author: Abie Alexander

There they stand, in wary lines, Clutching to their hearts, Or in tightly gripped bags, Bank statements, bills, Tax returns, certificates, Credit reports, checks, And even junk mail. But how much more we cling In our innards to biases, Racial

Vessel balanced atop, Child at the hip, The woman straggles Barefoot for miles each day. At the roadside tap, Their pots in queue, Children squabble, Waiting for the daily dribble. Or heaving at the rope, At the communal well, Feet

Shini-tai (死に体) When will you laugh again? Or smile that impish smile? We wrestled first with the miles And the ocean between us. Then, stepped in the pandemic, The gigantic, elephantine sumotori, Slamming our puny selves, And pushing and shoving

Under Nature’s Heel As a schoolkid, I scoffed When I read of saffron monks Sweeping the ground before them, Lest they step unawares on ants. Earthworms basking In the morning sun, On the warm cemented path That splits the cold,

The Celestial Dandelion You, delicate orb Of distilled beauty, That is gone by dusk, Or a careless step. Wordless you hold In your dainty globe, More wisdom than A million tomes. You beam at those Three score and tens Who

April Showers Shoots sprout through, lancing The winter-hardened earth, Sodden by spring rains. Suppressed remorses breach The stout retaining walls, And rivulets seep down. April was Eliot’s cruellest month – Now I know why. © Abie Alexander Greenbelt, MD      

My Window on the World As I part the curtains, There you are, Amongst the treetops, Golden, warm, and bright. Butterflies flit about, As bird calls And insect chirps Dim the fluorescent hum. This window Is my morning news –