Pinchas

Those who would be numbered

stood

at the entrance;  feet burning in the empty

imprint of a generation left in Zin, save one,

witnessing

a spear, a crown passed, a prophets lips sewn-

the disruption of flesh

all asunder

rent anew

cleansed in quick bright blood

A peoples fate

wrought on two

my readers eye, seeing and seeing again

that sharp union/ in exchange for peace

counted and counted once more

into fierce union.

 

Hello readers! Welcome to my new poetry blog “Songs from the Diaspora” where I’ll be writing a weekly poetry blog post inspired by the weekly Torah portion, life in the Diaspora, and and the way those things interact. As an introduction to the collection of poems I’ll also be posting the poem with which I started this project-

 

Songs from The Diaspora

The land is not

beneath our feet.

Rather, in the vowels

of our veins —

the rocking tempo of

prayers unlearned

words, dusted by decades, said quietly,

alone in shul.

Sticky stiff lips twist, dust-coated.

Thirsty, a hunger pang rumbling past for

the language of my own prayers;

awkward on my tongue.

Ages fracture

and

reader and written, pick their seams.

I grow voracious,

A mouth full of thread.