Thursday, November 19, 2009

Toldot (Favorite Son)

In my memory, favorite son,
you melt like manna
left in afternoon fields-
my ungathered offspring.

You melt like manna,
hairy and dream-drunken,
my ungathered offspring,
who brought me my meat.

Hairy and dream-drunken,
where are the hands
who brought me my meat,
red, like fury?

Where are the hands
nails clodded with dirt,
red, like fury,
reeking of soil?

Nails clodded with dirt,
left in the field
reeking of soil
in my memory, favorite son.

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