Author, Poet, Blogger
“We write to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospect.”
― Anaïs Nin
Miriam's poem, "Frog in My Throat," about her mom's Alzheimer's, was published on February 19, 2018, in the Red Wolf Journal.
"And God Remembered Sarah," was published in the Jewish Literary Journal's October 2017 issue.
Miriam's poem, "First Rain," was published in the September 2017 issue of the Jewish Literary Journal.
"The Magnitude of God," was published in the Jewish Literary Journal's March 2016 issue.
The 2015 issue of Arc 24 published two of Miriam's poems: "Why Leaving Israel for a Short Trip Makes Me Feel Untethered," and "Dead Sea Love."
Visit the Summer 2014 issue of The Ilanot Review to read Miriam's poem, "Undressing a Woman is like Peeling Garlic."
Miriam's poem, "Mercy of a Full Womb," won the 2014 Jewish Literary Journal's 1st anniversary competition. To read the poem, visit the Jewish Literary Journal.
Miriam's poem, "Questions my Mother Asked, Answers my Father Gave Her," won the annual 2013 Reuben Rose Poetry competition. To read the winning poem, visit Voices Israel at www.voicesisrael.com.
Read more poetry by Miriam about Alzheimer's in the on-line Winter 2013 issue of The Barefoot Review.
Miriam's poem, "God Writing in the Book of Life," appears in the Spring 2014 issue of Poetica Magazine. Her poem, "In the Jewish Cemetery, Split, Croatia," appears in the 2015 special Holocaust issue. www.poeticamagazine.com.
Visit http://jewishstorywriting.com/articles/rain/ to read Miriam's prize-winning poem about "Rain" in Israel.
Miriam's poem, "Dudaim," appears online in the January 2014 issue of Women In Judaism, an online multidisciplinary journal.
by Miriam Green
clump like tumors
in the riotous garden
of your mind. Empty diagnosis,
you insist. No one tells
the truth, not the doctors,
not your husband. Not God
behind His one-way mirrors. Sometimes
you admit you’re confused.
The clock’s hands read
like a foreign language.
House plants wither without
water. There’s a book in the freezer,
coins in the sugar bowl.
You jam the wrong key
into the locked door and
rage when it won’t open.
You wander in rooms
you have already abandoned.
If there is a key, it is hidden
in the chaos of your drawers.
We sort through piles
of single socks and match
the pairs as if
we could patch your brain,
tangles that constrict
until even your name is lost.