Poetry 365

The morning after the first Seder

Falling on the table, sunlight––the manna;
the shank and bitter herb, the egg, the Nile
of Manischewitz and white bone china––
the torah of the seder, as we slipped from exile.
By one o’clock, I found I was cocooned
once more, the whale fat with wine and guile
diving down, deep into the dune
sea of sleep. Now I awake in minyan,
sweeping up the matzah and macaroons.

Later the same day

I’ve passed through the washing up, been chastened
in Hebrew, Ma-Nishta-Na Ha Li la Hazeh,
managed to nap some more. There’s just one
seder to go, fresh-cut flowers outspread
in their vases, chiree, swtt, swtt of song
as birds zoom on fresh turned radish beds.
Pesah! Release from dull, cramped wrongs,
even as a distant train, moaning, passes,
a dark memory over all the flagstones.