A poem after the High Holidays
September 30, 2012
AFTER THE HOLIDAYS
I empty the mother jar
measure flour and water
drape a dishtowel tallit
unearth one wilted celery
and a faded fennel bulb,
today's wholeness offering
soon diced onion hisses
sibilant in the skillet
glistening in chicken fat
this is how I return
after days of aching ankles
heart cracked open from overuse
how can I cook
when I'm faded as grass
and empty as a shofar?
I turn old roots
and sorrow's salt into
soup fragrant as havdalah
the freezer yields
what it's been withholding
I invent the new year as I go
the humblest ingredients
turn silky and transcendent
after this long slow simmer
I empty the mother jar
measure flour and water
drape a dishtowel tallit
unearth one wilted celery
and a faded fennel bulb,
today's wholeness offering
soon diced onion hisses
sibilant in the skillet
glistening in chicken fat
this is how I return
after days of aching ankles
heart cracked open from overuse
how can I cook
when I'm faded as grass
and empty as a shofar?
I turn old roots
and sorrow's salt into
soup fragrant as havdalah
the freezer yields
what it's been withholding
I invent the new year as I go
the humblest ingredients
turn silky and transcendent
after this long slow simmer
I began writing this poem right after Rosh Hashanah, and posted an earlier draft here -- After Rosh Hashanah. Here's the current version -- a slightly different shape, a new ending, a few revisions here and there. I think this version is better, though I'm curious to hear what y'all think. Maybe I needed to make it through both of the High Holidays before I could discern what this poem really wanted to be.
As always, I welcome feedback of all sorts.