Thursday, Day 26: Magiritsa, again

Jubilee Dreams

Leviticus 25: 10-13

Sometimes, in my dreams,
my 50^th year, the one
I never believed would come,
the one that means I have outlived
my mother--

that year, the 50th, sometimes

settles drearily, just another

winter morning, and sometimes,

train-bound for nowhere,
clutching a bag of coins
to my heart, the police flash a light
in my face. But it's my birthday,
I say, and everybody
turns toward their windows,
not looking, not looking—then, suddenly

darkness, thick as the bottom
of the coffee cup,
the grounds I do not dare
to read now that I am 50
and pressing my luck.

Don’t press your luck
I say over and over to strangers
in cabs or on moonlit paths
through mountains or
in ordinary time, walking to work
or running on the elliptical.

Sometimes I wait, shivering,
in a small, white room,
thin hospital gown tied loosely
around my waist, the one windowsill
buried in snow, buried

Don’t press your luck

Sometimes a friend in prison
or at war
or dead 10 years
runs toward me

and then we walk
(don’t press your luck)
fearless
we walk
through a quiet village
at daybreak

and people we don’t know
but recognize as comrades
rise and begin to cook magiritsa,
the lamb-gut soup,
on low burning fires,
singing among the ruins.

Where is the lamb?
I ask, and they tell me,
all we have are the innards
what’s left
but still edible
still
enough
and we laugh, and say it
together
Don’t press your luck

And just beyond the fire
on the edge of the field,
my father’s garden is ready
even though he’s been dead 11 years
and my spouse and daughter are there,
older now,
tilting a wheelbarrow toward me
until I can see
heads of garlic overflowing
onto the grass

Happy birthday.
Look, the harvest waited for you
to arrive--

abundance in January

and they push the wheelbarrow toward the back porch
where everyone I’ve ever loved
is waiting

And I scatter my coins and secrets
on the kitchen table of my childhood,

I sip coffee until the cup is empty,
until the grounds settle,
powerless,

against the small universe
at the bottom, and I
am not 

afraid to look.