Every day a little death (in the buttons, in the bread) Stephen Sondheim
I rehearse my own death on Yom KippurThe holiest day of the Jewish year and the culmination of a season of self-reflection. Jews fast, abstain from other worldly pleasures, and gather in prayers that last throughout the day. Following Ne'ilah, the final prayers, during which Jews envision the Gates of Repentance closing, the shofar is sounded in one long blast to conclude the holy day. It is customary to begin building one's sukkah as soon as the day ends..
Pearls nap in the jewelry box, shiny Mary Jane’s poke from the rack and sackcloth stands in for silk.
I prefer not to sleep in a coffin, as I plan my funeral with Sharon Olds reading her latest and the Emerson string quartet playing Bartok.
Elul’s moon is weighted down by custard and should haves. The corner of shroud lifted by the wind whispers, “keep what is precious and forget the rest.”
I beg you to do the same.
Speak with me, to me, thru me of forgiveness and of regret.
All I can leave you is this perfectly fragranced afternoon, because my father sold all the good jewelry when my mother died. I do have her half moon seiko whose battery hasn’t been changed in 20 years.
Time stops. Cover the mirror, tidy the kitchen.
Death is my teacher, and every fall I rehearse, as mine marches closer.