Somewhere between the stirrups and the paper nightgown clinging nervously to my body,
My soul ascended mid-air like an artist on a trapeze.
Unsure where to grab hold.
On the one end children, birthday parties and ice cream.
And on the other, withered down eggshells.
Cast away from the last Passover Seder.
(Does the plague of the firstborn move in my body, still?)
The doctor talked so casually of my desert.
And so definitely of my future.
That all I’ve known since then is bondage.
The shackles of what other people tell me about my body.
And the prison populated by the lie that led me here; that I am a plague and no longer, life.
Ha Kadosh Barukh Hu,
Help me see myself as you do.
To walk faithfully in your Image.
Filled with movement and the spirit of all the living.
Lead me back to myself.
And to the ancient Promise you bequeathed our People.
Then, back to you.
So the soul who once dared on the trapeze.
Can at last, let her arms go,
And dare bravely to come back to life.
Come back to You.
