5 toward the Omer

hod shebchesed

I call through the window
to my housemate as he
tunes his guitar in the
kirtan circle in the backyard,

Is it okay to join
you all if I finish
what I’m doing in time?
It’s okay if it’s private…

You just need to pull
up a chair, one says.
With a spirit of open-mindedness,
another one adds. I nod,

say of course, slide shut
the window, and start writing.
What changes when a household
is created? When will the

credit card company get it
that I can be elsewhere
and here all at once?
Why shouldn’t I look like

a waiter at my wedding?
Is this just the sound
of a red-winged blackbird or
also the sound of another?

Would you come hear it?
How can my ears stop
ringing, the hairs unstick from
the positions they have taken?

Whose choices do I make?
I bite my tongue again,
softer this time, feel love
for my jaw, which is

newly loose, free to move,
and obviously still learning its
way through the many options.
Oh, the limits of knowledge

on this day, the excitement

on this day, the blessing

of our big messy body

singing out of tune—together!—

on this very blessed day.