Every year, my father climbed to the roof in late fall to install his homemade star of David on the top of our house.
You find the cracks for me—the small space / behind the triangle of peeling wallpaper, / / the crevice in the plaster, the air between / one page and the next. O Lady, show me / / the hidden.
Your Godmother, Almost Blind, / crochets away / the news / of your day.
But She can’t help / this rainbow: strong / / at both ends, / every color equally / present.
It’s evening at my writing desk and both these spaces / are a silence, the dimly-lit expanse of years stretching one / / after another.
Step 1: Cut as many large sections as you can from my six nursing school uniforms, blue-and-white seersucker dresses with white cotton aprons buttoned to the waistband.
