Poems by Elaine P. Millen
Actions Speak Not . . .
A High Holiday Poem“For the sins which we have committed against thee . . .”
I used to pound my heart and
make it ache with disgust
for the things I did and meant
not their action
In the sanctuary, I fell on my knees
and prayed to Ha'shem as tho' there
were no tomorrow and I was about to
be snatched away with no choice of the
means by which I would take my final
journey to share in G-d's Goodness and Greatness.
I knew You would understand my flaws,
You always have.
Please, accept my heartsould as I petition
You for Your everlasting Mercy and Love.
Answer my prayer for the redemption
of my tainted spirit while
I cleanse my hand -- that wrote ill;
I cleanse my mind -- that thought ill;
I cleanse my heart -- that felt ill.
Then, You closed the book and, together, we went away.
Copyright ©1987 Elaine P. Millen
High Holidays
We tiptoed in the back glass French doors, my Mother and I,
wearing our fine clothes and pleasant smiles.
A cheerful usher would hand us a book and
greet us with Holiday blessings and salutations.
Walking down the left parquet-floored isle, trying
tremendously not to make any popping or clicking
noises with our shoes and we hesitated for
a brief moment to see you look up from
your pulpit perch and gaze over the top of your
reading glasses to acknowledge our timeliness.
We always knew if you were happy or displeased by
the shape of your mouth, or the expression you cast
upon us with those penetrating, sky blue eyes.
We quietly sat down, found the page number in
the machzor and began our soul-filled prayers.
After we were settled in, you would pop down the
steps of the bimah, slightly askance to the pitch of
the stairs, and would approach us sitting in our
regular seats on the second row.
You nodded and whispered “hello” and went your
usual, polite and quiet way, making sure that the
next group of people assigned to aliyot were
present to accept their assignments.
I always felt comfortable and safe there with you
and Mother, and all the other folks that had become
like extended family.
I could feel the warmth and the embracing nature
in the little place atop the hill in the country.
With its winding gravel driveway and towering oaks,
its gravity and electricity grounded me to shield me from
the pain that surround me outside its protective barrier.
It was G-d's place . . .
a place where I could feel Eternal Peace,
where I could nestle into its modest cloak
to keep me warm.
Now I have to close my eyes and pluck that
picturesque memory out from between the rocks
and shards that ripped at my flesh to symbolize
my life without you.
It is a cherished thought --
G-d, the rolling East Tennessee mountains, Momma,
Daddy and me -- all for a blessing.Elaine P. Millen
Copyright ©1996 Elaine P. MillenWritten in dedication of the splendid memories and of the wonderful times
at B'nai Sholom Congregation, Bristol, TN. I miss those memories and the shul and
send a heart-felt “La'Shanah Tova Tikutavuh.”
Kaddishkite
In memory of the holocaust.
Do not forget . . .
The bodies burned.
Lest we forget . . .
The bodies raped.
Should we forget . . .
The bodies stacked.
Would we forget . . .
The bodies tortured.
Will we forget . . .
The bodies gone.
Must we forget . . .
The bodies mourned.
Please don't forget . . .
The bodies, bodies,
The bodies all alone,
Waiting for solace.Elaine P. Millen
Copyright ©1992 Elaine P. Millen
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