Sunday, September 2, 2018

Imeinu Malkateinu hear our prayer

I knew my mother was a queen.
She wore the night sky like a crown,
and she blessed us with her endless bounty. 
We feasted on cherries in the warm summer air
until our fingers were stained red
and sticky.

She held court at the kitchen table,
ruling us all with equal parts 
mercy and justice. 
Be kind, she commanded,
and oh! how we tried to please her,
live up to that mark!
But we were children,
and so were sometimes cruel,
and she would call us to account,
because she was Queen,
and she always knew.

We would tremble some,
standing before her,
waiting for her measured justice,
fear and shame twisting in our bellies
because we knew, always,
that we had failed her,
and so had failed ourselves.

Sorry, we would cry, every time -
time after time after time again -
Forgive us, we would plead.
We will do better,
we would promise.
Next time, 
we would say. 

My mother would gather us close,
Be kind, she would say again,
gentle, and merciful as a kiss,
and she wiped our red stained fingers 
with a soft cloth
until they were clean. 

No comments: