The American Poetry Review

THREE POEMS

October 2, 2016

I had never atoned for anything before these Days of Awe.When the dog brought the dead bird to the door, I buried it without examination.I offered it no kaddish.I wiped the blood from the dog’s nose and washed myIn the mirror, my black hair hid my eyes from my eyes.Naomi, this year my petition will require the attention of a thousand gods.This year I must add I tried to die to the list and listen as the one god writes it down.(How must I look to him, as each confession opens its wings to life under the soil.)The frost gathers on the ground at dusk now, hardening the earth.Yamim Nora’im falls late this year.If our god brings me a new body, I must tend it until spring.

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