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
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.
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