Would love some ideas for this poem - i'm feeling like it's somewhere there, buzzing around like a mosquito but not quite yet...
Book of Life
right over the words “im shamoa”
in Rosh Hashana mahzor this year
I found a squashed mosquito
and tried to imagine the person
who couldn’t help slamming
the book in the middle of shma –
or maybe even ran after the insect
through the shul, overturning chairs
pages open like monster jaws
of fatalism
or was it a celestial hand
that placed the mosquito there
like a note of trop – buzz these words
in high, fearfulpitch or else…
Oh Eibishte! write us in the Book of Life!
Seal us in there, squeeze us close –