Prophetess

My father calls me Deborah.
He says I see things others cannot see
in daylight. When he sits across from me
everything he is this minute pours away
faster than childhood, as if Hebrew
and a daughter dislodge the buried place.

In the snuffed out kitchen he breaks down
my name's meaning. D is for Dalet, a delight,
a door, and V is for Vav, the hook, the great
connector. The best is R, that's Reth
for radiant - there is a beginning.
He's patient, his words are the sounds
of his body breaking and rebuilding
as he nudges his coffee toward me. A sip.
We are mind on mind,
back and forth repeating.

My mother glares, standing by the stove, hands
twisted, each on each. One fingervein
of sunlight sweeps in, tipping the bolt
of her eyes, jealous, not a mother of female waters,
not faintly mayyim nukbin
but lit like she's aiming
for somewhere else.
But when he loops his arms around
me, presses his face in the borrowed scoop
of my neck, he smells like good warm bagels
and so I exist, and so I am presennt - heenayni.

*mayyim nukbin - female waters where souls are said to originate,
heenayni - I am present

copyright 2007 Nanette Rayman Rivera
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Barnwood magazine
Contents 07