My heart’s bursting was not my own.
Fier Kahshehs who wants to ask them, he intoned
all the while looking and trying not to look
to see if his own great grandsons would rise.
Noah was your first great grandson and you were afraid to hold him.
When Jacob came and he was named for mother
you told your cronies he was your inheritance.  Â
One crossed the room and shook your hand
at such an acknowledgment of your time here coming to an end.  Â
Did you see them rise together?
Did you listen as they practiced in the car on the long ride,
getting the syllables each in their fit?
Two blond heads in the same rhythm looking down
Noah swaying slightly as they chanted
with a small uptick of his body marking the words.
You had to watch closely to see it.  Â
Like Elijah, you entered our Seder so silently
only I knew you were there.
You left your wine untouched on the table.
You came just for the highlight of the fier kahshehs
and then you left.  Â
