I eat my way
Through the seder.
As my ancestor, Nachshon perhaps,
Dipped his toe in the Sea of Reeds
Or so I read,
I dip my egg into the sea of salt,
Fearlessly and safe from peril,
Reclining in my dining space,
The sweet flavor of lovingly prepared charoset,
Still caressing my tongue’s memory,
I savor the sharpness of slices of horseradish,
Raw with life,
A wake-up alarm for my palette.
Bitter herbs, disturbing texture,
But, I conjecture, a necessary detour
On the journey to sweet brisket.
And the bread of affliction,
The restriction of a breadless week
Not... Read More