There are some sadnesses so intense
That they stay in your lungs
And get caught there
So that every time you cry
You feel like you’re choking up the same sadnesses all over again
There are some angers so hot
That they sink into your muscles
And tighten up knots in your back and on your shoulders
So that you carry it around like chainmail
Weighing down your body without offering protection
There are some memories so painful
That the fact of looking back can turn you into a pillar of salt.
These things don’t happen to people who have names
Only to people who feel things so intensely
And have nobody to tell
I wrote this poem on the theme of Parashat Vayeira.
