Waiting for Elijah

We sit round
The table
Glowing, overflowing
With linens starched
Just for this
Night.

But one guest,
He’s missing
The empty plate
Glistening
Adjacent, a cup
Filled to the brim

Every so often
I glance, just to see
If a drop has
Gone missing
But that wine
Still is sitting
With no one
To drink it
You see?

Halfway through
the night
worried for his
Plight
I open the door
Late at night
Just to see.
But it still stands
Empty
I know
He is hoping
To come

It seems strange
Doesn’t it?

That a night
So traditional
Each detail
A planned ritual
A precision
Would be
punctuated
with gaps?

Like my sandwich,
The greens
Neatly plated
Yet vacant
It’s meat
The main
Still
Missing
From its place

And the split
In the matzah
Is gaping
Heart aching
For the crack
A poor man’s
Dreams
In between

A night
Punctuated
A people
Degraded
A freedom
Fragmented at best

Can freedom be whole
When there are
So many holes
On a night
That is holy
And true?

But I recite
And remember
This space
A split
That we entered
A people’s
faith as
Vast
As the sea

Can we reenter
This gap?
Be embraced
by the waters
Door open
To Elijah
Once more?