Walking up the steps
to the cave of our fathers
and mothers.
I look to the right
and see the stage being set.
Hear the tech guy on the mike
chanting
achat, eh, achat, shtayim.
Smell the hooka
as a circle of guys
breathe it all in.
I walk up to a crowd
of pushers.
All wanting the priveledge
of praying at the graves
of those who came before us.
I pass through security.
They take my compact
telling me to come get it
when I leave.
I notice that the cabinet
they place it in
is full of knives.
Guess makeup can be dangerous.
(LOL)
I pray my heart out
in the sweltering heat.
I retrieve my goods
and descend the stairs
stopping midway
to take a seat.
to breathe in the sights.
And to cry for what I've missed.
For what I still miss.
Harachaman Hu Yakim Lanu Es Sukkas David Hanofales...
