Sunday, April 16, 2017

5 toward the Omer

hod shebchesed

Dry near the muddy edge
of the water above them

I do not want to
tell myself for my sake

or I am but ashes
I reach both hands down

toward the thin creased pieces
of parchment my fingers find

nothing it seems that someone
did not see fit to

give women pockets but I
cannot wait for man or

manna to judge my worth
I choose splendor and humble

find my tambourine move my
feet stumble dance creating dust

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