I've done nothing
worthy of an appearance.
nothing in these six days
to make the seventh
feel any sweeter.
The psalms hewed together
in tsfat
roll from my tongue
like bell peals.
when there's no work
how can there be rest?
how can this day be better,
best, king of the week!
when i feel just as meek
as every other day preceding or following,
unfit to announce your regal appearance,
and undeserving of an invitation.
so save your barburim for someone
who's earned it.
until i get my ducks in a row,
I don't know if I'll bother to show.
(with apologies to Cole Porter. For the title, anyway)
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Ruby K,
ReplyDeleteMissed you this week. You don't have to do anything to deserve me. Everybody deserves a little shabbes in their lives. Shit is real enough; we all get a little taste of the world to come to help us deal with the rest of it. All you have to do is light a candle and let me in. Hope we can hang out next week. Same time, approximately, except maybe a couple minutes later?
Love you,
S
Aw, I love General Anna's (I'm sorry, I mean The Divine Ms. S's) response. A big hearty "ditto" to that. I relate to the sentiments you express in this poem so much, though. Fortunately the first comment to the post is right - This is a gift we are given that we might enjoy more when we've done certain things to prepare, but which we aren't required to do anything to receive.
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