top of page
  • Writer's pictureAnnelie Hyatt

Mi Sheberach

By Annelie Hyatt

In the summer of my childhood

we would circle the cul-de-sac:

endless road ahead of us, conversation

about nothing as we admired

the houses.

Grandpa, my floor has been messy for days.

My bed sheet keeps slipping

so most nights I end up sleeping on the mattress protector,

and I’m so hopeless that I wash my kitchen utensils

right before eating instead of waiting for them to dry.

I wonder if you would understand what I’m saying,

stranded on your hospital bed while I try to reel you in.

I certainly can’t understand you.

Illustration by Phoebe Wagoner

Years went by.

I was old enough for tenderness

and you were just older. We ate bagels in the morning,

we played Jin, you paced around the room chanting

“I am the Champion” while I cried near the piano,

face shining and insulted.

For days, hauling myself to class, writing articles, affronted by

one thing or another, I spend quiet moments considering the fact

that the Thing has finally happened

You’re here but not here.

You smile at me and everything is worse.

Tonight, we say Mi Sheberach

and I mouth the words, not knowing what they mean.

I watch the rest of my relatives recite it perfectly.


there’s no heat in my room and I’m struggling

to find a prayer that would come easy.

All I wish is that we could stay here,

circling, circling.


Recent Posts

See All

Going Home

By Madison Hu when the light turns red, he will go home in the meantime, three friends walk arm to arm the baby is on his father’s shoulders and it is nothing he can’t defeat yet later, he will only r

Selected Poems

By Thaleia Dasberg “simmer” over milkwashed fields plucking feathers off corn stalks bleeding I watch you steam you smoked thing boots freezing under a stomach hot with buried spring “sarasota (next t


bottom of page