Deborah Leipziger

Snowclocks

In the lingering of night
before morning
there are snowdrops.
Or is it snow?
No, these are flowers.
(I am sure.)

I squint
to see them.
I see double.
triple,
multiple bulbs
splitting underground.

There is an invisibility
to the lives of mothers.
No one sees me
in the lingering of night.
No one knows.

So it is with snowdrops.
Huddled,
they look downward,
inward into the earth.

In the lingering of night
before morning
the snowdrops are pearls
against the dark tree trunks.
Life is reduced to an x-ray of black and white.

My life is not measured in days or hours
but in the cycle of flowers,
from crocus to daffodil,
tulip to peony.

 

Island Cities

The silence between us is eloquent and fluid,
like a river between two cities.

Each word a touchstone
an arrow, a shiver, spanning two cities.

The night is moonless,
an amber light washes over our cities.

How many stars remain,
my giver of stars, between our cities?

Through the jasmine scented night
there is a quiver inside our cities.

So many miles and mines and nights
in the path hither between our cities.

 

Portrait

Render me in paint
each opening and closing
every lash pore contour

Each contour breathing
the lines of my geometry

The color of guava
the calyx of a pomegranate
colors like a river

Add the white pigment
the color of sea foam,
moonlight  

Black ink for my hair and eyes
black as the words on a map
calligraphy lashes

The colors from a childhood fair
spinning on a wheel, blurring

 

The City of Chloe

without words
we communicate only
through scent
the spray burst opening
of a tangerine
is a symphony

from our pores
the city speaks its smells
of grass mowed
fruit ripening
of yeast, sea
and salt, of sweat
and belonging

To S

Draw me a map of your body,
its crevices and precipices
your tender places of longing.
Guide me through the unexplored places,
your Atacama desert
and singular oasis.
Let me trace the river veins
with my fingers.
Where are the bruises,
the disbelief,
and the fingerprints
of those that caused you pain?
Take me behind the waterfalls,
through the caves into the deep canyons.
Help me navigate the hollow places
of the space between us.

Sueño

I sleep inside your sleep
Your touch in my touch
Your hand resting on my side
Guitar curve of my body

In the night you whisper
“It’s like an exotic island”
The moon reclining into the night
Your sweat in my pores

I dream inside your dream
Awake inside your morning

Deborah Leipziger is an author and poet. Her poetry has been featured in Ibbetson Street, Voices Israel, Bagels with the Bards, Popt Art, Scribblers on the Roof, The Muddy River Poetry Review, Zingology, Poetic Mindset, Levend Joods Geloof (Netherlands) and on the public television show, Brookline Writes.  Ms. Leipziger is the founder of the Jewish Poetry Fest sponsored by Temple Sinai in Brookline. She is currently working on her first chapbook.

Deborah is the author of several books in the field of corporate responsibility, including The Corporate Responsibility Code Book, now in its second edition. Her books on human rights have been translated into Chinese, Korean, and Portuguese. Born in Brazil, Deborah has travelled to many countries throughout Latin and Central America, Europe and Asia, working with companies, governments, and civil society groups promoting more humane workplaces.

Deborah is the mother of three daughters, Natasha Lara, Jacqueline Lucia and Alexandra Nicole: her three muses.