Susannah Brodnitz

Daily I wound my watch, hoping for rain.
Tell me, what is more golden than a raincloud?
I was always one to wrestle with clear skies.
Tumbling over hilltops, clawing at blue,
you know the drill.
You might not think so looking at me now, but I had
immense power
in those days.
You might not think a lot of things,
brain bound in cranium, self stuffed in solid form.
Always standing in a doorway, staring down blankly at your two human hands.
Tell me, what are human hands but monkey feet?
I see you wherever you are.
I'm left alone more now, but I still know these things. Sometimes I miss
the veneration, but I don't miss
being watched.
I prefer only the wind to know where I am.
Why, just yesterday I was reading a snowstorm my latest dream diary entry
and I felt perfectly at ease. Perfectly.
If you can't sit down to tea with a gust,
discussing your fears of sudden toothlessness,
soft clammy gums and a mouth full of missing rocks,
what do you have left?
You must trust the night air or perish.
Not that you would know anything about trust.
You could learn from me.
You know, when I was young I lived in a garden and ate
locusts every morning, savoring the crunch,
keeping company with the rising sun.
I remember once the sparrow brought me his worm as a gift,
an offering,
and that was the warmest day of my life.
I don't mean hot, I mean perfectly warm.
I know what I mean.


Susannah Brodnitz is a graduating senior (!) from the East Bay in California. She majored in physics and minored in Jewish studies and this was her first creative writing class.