shekhina This is my last stab, I assure you. We don't do incense, profusion. We don't even do vowels. You can't read until you know how to read. Then you must sing. We worship a book that is not a book, we carry it like a child in our arms, dress it, kiss it goodnight. Once I thought you yourself were the mystical shape of the godhead, all emanation. And you, you thought I was the better Jew. I loaned you books and said I'd take you to shul. But that was the year of the funeral. I should have stepped on that black hat. I should have shouted. I read psalms to my roommate in the hospital, my rabbi came and sang to me, she put her hands on my forehead, but you did not come. I never took you anywhere after that. Every week I stood to say kaddish, and every week it bleached me. At the end I had no arguments left, I could no longer stand on one foot or the other. I sat and cried and my god was as silent as the silent prayers of those around me. In the sanctuary I am like a victim, returning. I flee, but I am followed. And now the Shekhina has chased me down to Mexico, a skeleton dressed as a woman, a woman dressed as a man, a god dressed as a mountain, as a moon. She plays la loteria, puts down el corazone. She is paring my heart like an apple and she demands that I return.
shekhina
shekhina
shekhina
shekhina This is my last stab, I assure you. We don't do incense, profusion. We don't even do vowels. You can't read until you know how to read. Then you must sing. We worship a book that is not a book, we carry it like a child in our arms, dress it, kiss it goodnight. Once I thought you yourself were the mystical shape of the godhead, all emanation. And you, you thought I was the better Jew. I loaned you books and said I'd take you to shul. But that was the year of the funeral. I should have stepped on that black hat. I should have shouted. I read psalms to my roommate in the hospital, my rabbi came and sang to me, she put her hands on my forehead, but you did not come. I never took you anywhere after that. Every week I stood to say kaddish, and every week it bleached me. At the end I had no arguments left, I could no longer stand on one foot or the other. I sat and cried and my god was as silent as the silent prayers of those around me. In the sanctuary I am like a victim, returning. I flee, but I am followed. And now the Shekhina has chased me down to Mexico, a skeleton dressed as a woman, a woman dressed as a man, a god dressed as a mountain, as a moon. She plays la loteria, puts down el corazone. She is paring my heart like an apple and she demands that I return.