Author: Pilgrim


I clean Elijah's cup.
I lay out the Seder plate.
These are my duties, proscribed for me by God,
Handed down to me from the first of my line, perhaps Moses himself.
Husband, provider, protector....

When the door is opened,
to the Tishbi, and to the stranger...
I will be far away, in another world.
I mention the irony to her.
Wife, nurturer, creator...

Change can be positive, she says.
She doesn't look from the bitter herbs she chops, in preparation.
I nod, the continue to clean the brass cup.
Nothing really to say.


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