On the last Shabbat before the new year
I braced in the last row of the sanctuary,
Waiting to greet the bride
And mourn my brother.
At the front of the room a family
Leaned together and clasped hands,
Their happy milestone plowed together
With bar mitzvahs and me this night.
But as the ark opened, the rabbi’s mic
Picked up the clinks and glissades
Of the Torah undressed of its
Crowns and regalia,
And sent back to my corner
The noise of a box of cymbals,
Thrown down steep stairs
To crash open the door
Of a past year, written but
Never sealed—the last clanging edge
Wedging the doorframe wide,
A book’s worn binding struck open
To where it says some you love
May die by beasts, by water or fire,
The old expedients whose names
Choke beneath the song of this new year.
September 2012
Copyright © Josh Jacobs 2012