by Amy Lewites

When the cheese and meat go sour, 

and the bread flakes mold, 

that is when you’ll know 

you have to buy more 

silver of these menorahs 

bask in ancestral memory 

small crumbs of savory sadness 

frying in your pan, 

you have to call your mom again. 

The candles drip wax colored 




looks like a tragedy to your child eyes 

what was meant to be a miracle 

of eight day oil, 

holy to the fingers and tongue 

the Jews had nowhere to run 

still, nowhere is love

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