A poem in celebration of the Festival of Shavuot...
There are Torahs in the corner that need to be swept.
Sit still. Your hair is tangled with scrolls.
The sink is filled with sudsy Scriptures.
You'll need extra parchment to keep out the cold.
Hold still. An alef fell into your lashes.
The setting Exodus sinks slowly into the sea.
A Genesis is begun whenever we say hello.
It is the end of Deuteronomy whenever you leave.
I take coffee with one heaping teaspoon of prose,
And wish on shooting Numbers in deep turquoise skies.
Whenever I'm asked a difficult question,
New Torahs compose themselves behind my eyes.
Look over the mountains, those pulp sodden pages,
Billowing gray Torahs predict a spring storm.
Verses among the vegetables need to be kept.
Be still. A Leviticus landed on your arm.
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