Blessings

15 Feb 04 – LA

Nadja's kitchen always called to us from the road: a warm spot where –

"have you eaten?" – crepes and salmon with cream and capers appeared

on steaming plates, borne by loving hands that had "just thrown

something together" out of that refrigerator of wonders

And no weary traveler was better blessed than us

My mother's kitchen was made of different stuff: a well-lit spot

where, between leftover bags of pita bread and feta from

who-knows-when, we filled our bellies on Rosenzweig and Levinas –

"here's something by Mary Oliver – have you tried her?" – and

countless poets in tumbled piles of wisdom, borne on loving words that

had "just reminded me of something" from that trove of wonders that

was my mother's soul

And no weary son was better blessed than I