Cross-legged on my mat
listening, body still, mind still
active breath:
focus in, focus out
inhale, exhale
control, awareness

A voice, soothing me to remembrance
a childhood time of feeling only all encompassing love
only non-judgmental acceptance

Layers of years pull back effortlessly with each breath cycle:
concrete hexagons on the path through the park,
the gleam of ancient trolley tracks straining up through fresh tar under the El,
the remnants of last generation’s cobblestones holding fast to the street,
the sing-song squeak of metal swings
Later
the warmth of a crowded kitchen
a plate of sliced kishka encased in oiled wrap
a turkey being carved with an electric knife,
a crowded dining room table

I’m deep in meditation when tears form behind closed eyelids
the voice has ended but never comes back to claim me from my memory,
and I am stuck
buried in my own history

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Rebecca M. Ross is a displaced Brooklynite living and teaching in New York’s Hudson Valley. Her work has most recently been published in the Dissent Anthology. Rebecca has a BFA and an MA from Brooklyn College.