for Sara Daskal

Beautiful Lillian
her smile of samovar
lips still curl from the days when
her kisses at sunrise
would sting the postman
out of his sleep,
his deliveries gratefully
late those mornings
Her own sleep aborted
by dream loops
of Talmud in a boxcar
Now slowed but still liquid
her days adrift on an ocean of
sandwich bags, borscht
and used honeymoons

She craves a miracle or two
from a god so likely
to drop the contract
into the sea —
to let her lick just one more
drop of loving
and bring forth the warrior, David,
to avenge the horrors of hating
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But Sid will do

They will dine again this evening
then screw the Evil Eye
by flaunting their pleasure
They will forget
They will remember
They will forget
in a casserole of wheezes,
joint aches and ecstasy
Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
Beautiful Lillian
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