Teshuvah

bread thrown & bloated, as if speaking                                                      the sin
                        out loud could make the sun into a button, holding                          shut
the split of seasons sharpened in flame, blurred smoke                                           &
                        birds dropping from blackened sky                              somewhere
over new mexico, though today is not outside time, it’s                  inside


a clock struck again & again by a granite fist; us              masked


& rocking as if the word could set the birds down
                                                                                                                                   in softness,
with yitgadal v’yitkadash—             the knot
is that i’m trying to make this neat for you: birds &
            sky & triangles pinned in pink & yellow, rutabaga & snow
the color of what’s left: a pillowcase filled with tangles
                                                               she made to stay alive.            one for each day
i can’t unknot                          now
            (hidden in caves, the children watching what was done)—
but please don’t say i’m sorry.                                             say clove hitch.
                                                                                                                shroud knot.
                                                                                                     butcher’s loop.


Want to read the rest?
Please login.
New to Narrative? sign up.
It's easy and free.