Succoth – by Sally Michaelson

 

It is beyond me, building this hut
according to the rules

Three walls, twenty cubits high
a roof of branches

to make clear to houses
of brick and stone

that they too are just a hut
in the scheme of things

I should have called a rabbi
with a squad of helpers

eager for points in heaven,
but I needed you

your Arab skin encountering mine,
its fragility.

 

 

 

Sally Michaelson is a conference interpreter in Brussels and her poems have been published in Lighthouse and Ink, Sweat and Tears.

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