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I Sing the Shekinah’s Praise

Visit me again, Mother, come at night,
complexion ruddy or post-mortem white,
Sleeping Beauty or closetful of bone,
delude me, whisper, “Girl, you’re not alone.”

Only at night, lightfooted as a cat,
give me a blessing, reassure me that
humanity transcends the rat-trap game
played in exchange for x minutes of fame.

Now put your left foot in, your left foot out
and shake until you plotz, no longer stout,
no longer thin, no longer anything
you ever were, no longer suffering …

O Mother of the earth, your comic dance
turned tragic long before incontinence
snapped you into disposable diapers,
rolled you and turned you to ward off bedsores.

O Mother of the sky, queen of the Jews,
look down on me in any phase you choose,
be darkly new, develop like a flower,
be cheese, be tidal flow, be womanpower.

O Mother of the sea, throw me a rope
and a placenta, teach me how to cope
with memories of shame-like when I peed
on the cellar floor-and worse-I lied.

O Mother of my dreams, rebirth my soul
by catching every spark, declare me whole
in your own image, scold if I do wrong,
forgive this blasphemy, stand tall, be strong.