Sauci Bosner

Letter to my Jerusalem Resolutions

1-Listen as consciously as possible to my early morning dream state messages, in whatever form they manifest.

2- No more self-medication with refined sugars and aspartame.

3-Whenever I feel shame, guilt or belly-fear, remember that these are starting points for resolution and personal growth.

4.Acknowledge the accomplishments of living alone together on this planet.

5- Don’t wallow in the memories of abandonment and isolation.

6-Share my insights and observations with no attachment to fear of rejection.

7-Take daily initiatives in making new friendships and experiences. Have faith that I will probably not lose myself as completely as I have done in the past.

8-Live and move forward from the heart, inspired by acquired wisdom and understanding.

9-Appreciate the accomplishments and achievements of myself and others.

10-Know that moving into the space which is mine to discover is my birthright.

Letter to the time

Woke up at 6 30.

Morning showers dripping down  the open window.

The kittens holding up the home front at the foot of the bed.

Morning guys.  Did you sleep alright.

I turn over once more, enjoying the warmth of my turquoise duvet

and the quiet of the house.

Tik tok tik tok tik tok tik tok.

My legs move softly onto the carpeted floor.

I stand. I stretch. I walk. I pish. I wash my hands and face.

Pookie rushes into the bathroom and jumps into  the sink,

His tongue moves through this morning’s waterfall.

I laugh. He runs away.

We are both creatures of habit.

Tik tok tik tok tik tok tik tok.

I drink nescafe while plucking strawberries for my breakfast.

These hanging plants are laden with ripened fruits.

Smells of jasmine, sage and mint  surround me.

Patches of blue skies poke through the grey clouds.

Time for a second round and a bit of breakfast.

I turn on the television.

9/11.

The alarm goes off.

So do I.

The day has officially begun.

Tok tik tok tik tok tik tok tik tok tik tok

Tik tok tik tok tik tok tok tok tok tok….

Letters to glorious gardens

Planting tulip bulbs on my balcony gardens. The kittens are having a field day with the bags of soil and turf …the kitchen floor is covered with soil and their cute white paws are now black….Remembering Max Waleson ( May his memory be a blessing), in his baggy shorts, torn blue t shirt, sweat rolling down his back, pipe in his mouth, hosing down the garden early mornings and evenings. I was never in America when he planted his imported tulips from the Netherlands. Summer vacations in America, lifetimes ago, were filled with inspection of the gloriously colored garden,, filled with blooming tulips of all colors of the rainbow. His pride and joy was to cut a fresh home grown bouquet for the kitchen table and those of his friends who came to enjoy the swimming pool and jacuzzi on sultry Sunday afternoons.
I also am remembering Suzanne Waleson-Pronk, (May her memory be a blessing) his daughter in law, Jonathan’s wife, mother of four beautiful 

Letter through her story ( part one)

What a strange place to host a women’s evening.

Sixty plus worn wooden steps winding their way to the top.

Cold to the touch,  blackened banisters offered some perspective

to these times of  global turbulence and cultural transitioning.

I felt a trespasser, rumbling through worn torn pockets

searching for rusted keys amid memories of exile and exclusion.

Makeshift  masculine madness has taken its toll .

Euros, eros and pounds of flesh have raised their mighty swords

crossing deserts, stone walled cities  and partitioned valleys

casting shadows on  even this neon shadowed balcony.

Carrying cellular echoes of lives past

I entered this stainless steeled white washed Ajaxed space.

Welcoming me into this colorful circle of swirling shawls

bejeweled and bejangled arms , hands and hearts,

I took the place which is mine alone to share.

Brown green and blue eyed beauties peeled through

herstorys and timelines, sharing tales of revolution and resolution.

Laughter washed time touched cheeks, lifting collective burdens

and highlighting individuale evolutions.

Tasty tidbits  fueled our bodies while our souls took flight,

settling in sacred spaces well traveled by wild haired wimmen.

What a perfect place to open our hearts once again,

in this Jewish Morrocan mokum.