they used to light them up, two-by-two, for the honor of the day
each witch like a shabbes candlestick
with warped glee in the match-lighter's hand
as they offered our mamas as unwilling incense
to a god who hated the smell,
the children covering their eyes like
Kadosh, Kadosh, Kadosh
We break bottles now at weddings because of the mamas who broke them on cop windows,
Compton's.
Where Hashem's word cracked through the windshield like the heavens
where we found revelation standing atop police cruisers like mountaintops
my tateh throws me bread across the shabbes table
like Miss Major threw that stilleto, that brick addressed
"NYPD"
like my mameh throws salt over her shoulder,
get rid of that devil,
same words that they screamed:
"Get rid of that devil!"
we stand on the shoulders of giants
what a sin this *would* be
- pride -
without the humility to know
that nothing over which we are proud is our own
that we aren't shopping a "gifted" pride
but an earned one
not received, but excavated
clawed through dirt til the nails came unglued
and the paint got chipped
and with mangled paws we rose panting and holding the gem that'd been hidden away
the compressed ashes of offerred-up mamas,
turned diamonds over the centuries
that's what we keep around our necks, adorning our tiaras
every
high note karaoke hit
a reclamation of a mama's shriek
every
beat mug at the ball
is Brandon
is Matthew
- a beat body
and what about
Marsha P.'s body
floating down the Hudson like Moses in the nile
whichever city agency fished her out
did they see a prophet like Pharaoh's daughter did?
Did she rise from the reeds to lead her people again?
and if not, why not?
and if not, *will we*?
we stand on the shoulders of giants
every inch of height
a fossilized leather boot heel caked over vinyl pumps
walking through this wilderness on these ancestral clown stilts
for however many years we're given to wander
today is the day we commemorate the days when so many of those journeys ended
when our doyros laid themselves out
exhausted, bruised,
covered in glitter
an offerring at the foothills of the promised land
the inches that their bodies tallied lifting the soles of the next pair of chucks
and in the ancient ritual, they prayed,
let these ones be the ones
let these ones be the ones
that take us over to that other side
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