Deuteronomy Cycle Two 21:10-25:18 Ki Thavo

Ki Thavo
a poem


First bite into a fig
so ripe there’s no
tomorrow.
See the fig-blood.
Taste it.
Take the first fruit of seven
species to the priest. Now write Torah clearly in seventy
languages on stone.
Every word.
Cover the stone in plaster.
Repeat: First take the fruit from the head
Merashit col peri
from the basket
just as we are from the land
Me’ertzka
just as God brought us out from
Mitzrayim-
just as we come from-
to God
with the fruit of our womb the fruit of the vine to
the name of the place of God’s choosing.
Step forward from the loins of the earth
from the un-used uterus, as the b’chor
of dates pomegranates grapes.
Don’t even think about it.
Do it every sun and moon rebirth
now when the mouths reach
for water but drink lies
when the beggar holds out a hand
but is blind to the coin
when the man cuts himself on the sharp flesh
of his wife when the vines grow
in luscious tangles infertile
when the criminal tries to sell his book
about being incarcerated in a seven foot cell
when we say we’re so spiritual because
we used to meditate
we used to pray.
Cut open the sweetness
for the widow chained to the wedding band for
the orphan who stares with eyes exploding like meteors.
Step forward with the un-tasted seeds
beyond the curses and the blessings
through the fast
talking fast
thinking bodies glued
to car seats.
And write that on the stones-
how you stepped into and beyond that .
And when the smoke
from the factories next to the bridge
chokes one more angel
and thousands more men have lost arms and legs
when the drunk mothers ignore the
baby who you meet grown up thirty years later-
when the nutra sweet
smiles have been pimped from somewhere…maybe the corner diner
and there’s hate coagulating in tiny heart attacks
getting louder and louder
then hold out the seeds in the palms of your hands.
Let them be the cherries on your cigarette butts
the miracle oil and
the staccato call of a shofar.
Yes you can hear it. Let it soothe
the atom bomb to pure
silence. Hold out the blood red juice in cupped
hands like there’s no tomorrow.
Then peel the plaster off the stone
and read again how you did it,
how you do love.