Sunday, January 15, 2017

Poem #13 of 99


99 Poems in 99 Days is Back

I recently moved from Los Angles to Philadelphia to help care for my grandmother. She is the subject of inspiration for many of these poems. A few years ago, I joined in a project with a friend to write 99 poem in 99 days. I decided to bring it back to help get myself through the changes, especially winter.  I've been posting these so far on Instagram. You can find me @iameatingpoetry. But for those of you that avoid social media, I'm reposting for you here. Here is what I did so far.  I'll be posting here daily going forward.













Tuesday, October 04, 2016

Royal Court

I enter Royal Court at 9pm. A large treasure chest balances precariously on a skateboard. It is filled with poison: half drunk bottles of vermouth, absinthe, and Japanese whiskey. My neighbor and his lady friend diligently sort through the booty. “Choose one,” they say to me.

The owner of the traveling bar appears: A skittish kid in his early 20’s with a red welt under his right eye. My neighbor hands him eight bucks for a sticky bottle of rum and the kid’s eyes light up like street lamps. “They were throwing it all away,” he says. “I rescued these bottles from a dumpster.”

A middle aged man thin like spaghetti enters the scene on a bicycle. Dirty bare feet work the pedals. “Still lugging that chest around?” He says to the kid. He comes to a halt and his eyes point to his hands. “Look what I scored!” Black gloves with metal spikes gleam from the handle bars.

“You guys like sweets?” My neighbor asks. When we nod affirmation, he disappears. Like a bunny, he reappears a moment later and hands out slices of warm bread pudding.

“Yum!” We all say and disperse into the night.

Copyright © 2016 Chaya Silberstein

Monday, August 29, 2016

Sunday Morning Devotion

Psalms on the lips of a homeless apostle,
planted on the island of a busy intersection,
his eyes are stained glass windows,
his mouth, a silent hallelujah.

A train of orange cyclists appear
and whistle, “Bonjour!”
It’s the French Rivera chugging along
this smog filled street of Los Angeles.

Mourners fill the streets of my youth
clad in black and white uniform,
lamenting the fall of a temple,
many years ago.

I walk along Main Street,
this Sunday morning
and observe the prayers around me,
I enter Rite Aide
and greet the clerk
as I buy my toiletries.

Copyright © 2016 Chaya Silberstein

Sunday, August 28, 2016

Missing You, I Went Walking

The river is lonely in my heart
as a drunkard stomps across the bridge,
ducks keep watch for prowlers
lest the unruly gets in.
music drifts from the reeds
as helicopters take down the sky,
the river is lonely in my heart,
there are no boats tonight.

Copyright © 2016 Chaya Silberstein