Winter
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
red,
blue,
yellow,
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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