Between the last sip of water
and the first bite of food,
twenty-four hours later,
there are words.
Pages and pages of words.
Spoken, chanted, mumbled, mouthed
in Hebrew and in English.
Words. Swirling in the fragile space
between faith and fear
like smoke from the burnt animal
our ancestors sacrificed.
Words. Offered with parched lips,
grumbling bellies,
and a fist against the heart.
We are arrogant,
slow to admit mistakes,
quick to accuse others,
unwilling to accept
that all deeds matter.
Words. Pierce concrete hearts
like the mythical shamir,
who cut stone
for Solomon’s Temple.
Words. Waiting
for souls to emerge
chiseled and clean.
from Manna in the Morning (Kelsay Books, 2021)
