NOT ANONYMOUS by Ayala Zarfjian

Not Anonymous

by Ayala Zarfjian

I see your drawing on the wall

of block 27.

An empty baby carriage

for your doll.

The doll with the light brown hair

and hazel eyes.

Wearing a mustard yellow dress

with a navy blue collar.

What did you name her?

Rebecca or Gitty,

Shayna or Deborah.

I will never know.

I envision you before your life was taken.

In a lush garden, singing while you hopscotched

as you embraced your doll.

A vivacious child

with a beautiful name and

soft, delicate hands.

Your hair swayed when you jumped and ran,

your spirit full of light.

You are not anonymous.

Your life is remembered.

Your drawing displayed as testimony.

Your world ours.

Your pencil lines etched in our consciousness.

(This poem originally appeared in A Corner of the World: Holocaust Poems for My Father by Ayala Zarfjian, Golden Dragonfly Press, Second edition, August 2022. To obtain your own copy, click here.)

Ayala Zarfjian is an Israeli-born American poet. The author of A Corner in the World: Holocaust Poems for My Father (Golden Dragonfly Press, 2021) and Second Chances: Poetry of a Sun-Kissed Life, winner of The Next Generation Indie Book Award. Her poems have been anthologized in Chiaroscuro, Darkness and Light: Voices from poets - dVerse Anthology (2017) and Poetry as a Spiritual Practice: Illuminating the Awakened Woman (2016). Ayala is a mother, and a grandmother. When Ayala is not writing or designing jewelry, she loves to spend time with her children and grandchildren. Her other passions are traveling, deep-sea fishing, meditating, reading, and art. She resides with her family in Plantation, Florida, and blogs at A Sun Kissed Life.

*For submission guidelines, click here.*

Comments

IMAGINE A WOMAN by Patricia Lynn Reilly

This poem invites you to look upon yourself with loving kindness… Gazing at your own true reflection, you will discover that everything you have longed for “out there” is already within you! I invite you to love your creativity fiercely. Faithfully plant seeds, allowing under-the-ground dormant seasons, nurturing your creative garden with love and gratitude. In the fullness of time, the green growing things thrust forth from the ground. It's a faithful, trustworthy process. AND it takes time and patience. Blessed is the fruit of your creative womb! I invite you to trust your vision of the world and express it. With wonder and delight, paint a picture, create a dance, write a book, and make up a song. To give expression to your creative impulses is as natural as your breathing. Create in your own language, imagery, and movement. Follow no script. Do not be limited by the customary way things have been expressed. Your creative intuition is original. Gather

IMBOLC by Caroline Mellor

The inspiration for this poem came after I watched a magical winter sunset and full moonrise from the top of Firle Beacon in the South Downs... Unusually for me, I wrote the poem quite quickly and changed it very little before publishing it – perhaps the energies were working through my pen! Imbolc is the mid-point between the winter solstice and the spring equinox. It’s a fire festival which I particularly love because of its associations with Brigid, the Celtic Mother Goddess of arts and crafts, clear sight, healing, inspiration and nurturance of creative talents – something which, through my writing, I am always trying to connect with. I also love Imbolc because, with so much darkness and negativity in the world today, it is a time for hope, potential, visioning and initiation. With love and blessings as the light returns. Photography by Chanel Baran IMBOLC by Caroline Mellor I am the dream of awakening. I am the returning of the night. I am the tough green

WINTER SOLSTICE: A GIFT OF LOVE by Carolyn Riker

I’ve had several days now of alone time… It is unusual and a gift that I couldn’t see until I breathed it. I have been able to watch the sun’s rise through the grey of dawn and smile at the flickers of frost melting on the waving boughs of evergreen. It’s unique to follow daylight as it traverses the tempo of a cat’s soft slumbering purr. Night comes swifter and the glow of candles and the flames of fire comfort me more than the steady stream of always-doing-more. As much as I resisted, I needed this break. I had no idea how much my body was trying to tell me slow down until the exhaustion settled in around my joints. My eyes swam in molasses. Heaviness of I-can’t-hold-out-much-long, walked me to the throne of my nest. It’s winter’s gift of self-nurturing and love. It’s been a quiet proclamation of femininity and a need for comfort foods. Lemon crisps and cranberry, white-chocolate shortbread dipped in tea; I felt a hint of being pampered without

Journey of the Heart

Search This Blog