Wednesday, July 17, 2013

Tisha b'Av

Right before the fast
I sat in Arabic class
peeling what I thought
were hardboiled eggs

Both smushed under my fingers
and I realized that neither
was cooked nearly enough

and I thought to myself,
Man, I can't even
mourn properly

Maybe that
is our new mourning

1 comment:

Gina Fried said...

Thanks for this poem. I feel like you've given me permission to just not know what the hell to do with Tisha B'Av.