Conversion

No longer Mary Magdalene
playing dress-up in a headscarf
I have been remade
in the image of Ruth

Only our children's eyes
remind me of who
my people really are.
My spirituality,
dictated through guilt
gilds my Shabbat offerings
with resentment.

Naomi return me to my birthplace.
I long to hear Korean thunder,
smell freshly washed Asian pines,
walk barefoot to the well
my mothers knew.

Fireflies In A Jar

This summer I captured fireflies in a jar
for the first time since I was eight years old

Sitting on the deck
with my very own environmentally friendly
night light
I counted the seconds before the thunder
as sheet lightning
crawled across Orion's belt

And it seemed to me
that only gods and children
know how to truly befriend magic

Somewhere a mountain erupts;
sparks arc above the caldera's rill,
turn trees into ghoulish silhouettes,
then flutter back to earth
Ashes seal secrets into pumice
and liquid fire eats its way
to the sea.

I press my fists into my face.
Sparks dance beneath my eyelids.
fireflies for the gods.