Doctor Grandma

We sit together inside the tent

put up in your backyard,

gourds and squash, a Fall harvest,

hang from the tent above,

on a cool night in October,

warmed by laughter shared with friends,

we pass treats around the circle,

and then around again.

O Rabbi, we are so relieved

you are not alive today,

when all your efforts for harmony

seem to have gone astray,

the garment is torn,

we’ve lost our way,

we cry out tears for peace,

may the One God of the universe

unite us in our grief.

cfblack 10-30-2018

This entry was posted on October 30, 2018 at 1:39 am and is filed under poetry, stories in the news. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.