l'chaim (1)

jessica rivchin
The heart is a resilient thing, I suppose,
as I peer at you across plates of shrimp and sweet potatoes—
You are pretending to watch the blues band,
chin resting on your fist,
but I see you
noticing my long legs
disappearing into thigh-high boots
while I sip my apple-green martini.
You lean forward across the table,
your hairline silver beneath the lights.
It’s almost too much – you, the music, this city…

An old woman with an expertly painted face cried
on my city-bound bus tonight.
I wonder if things ever get easier…
Is she on her way to the funeral of a lifelong love,
whispering the Kaddish,
clutching dusty pictures from some long-ago wedding day?
Or perhaps she has been left by a clove-smoking lover,
Too young to know
That she watched him across the breakfast nook and thought,
This is it, this is finally it--?

I want to say something clever
but I cannot catch her lavender-lidded eyes.
I turn to the window, to traffic bunched
at angles around the Lincoln Tunnel.
We begin to inch forward, and I
I wonder why
people come all this way
just for some decent blues.

(1) Common Hebrew toast meaning “to life”