Friday Florilegium

 

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The mezuzah speaks

of years finger touched

by faith,

disinterest,

habit–

depending on the day.

 

Painted over,

pried at, forgotten–

hidden scroll still and

silent

like G-d’s voice to Elijah.

 

My fingers twitch

more doubt than hope,

reaching higher than any human door,

Are You still there?

An exhale, waiting

in between

and emptied

 

It answers simply

with breath–

Yes.

 

And for another Friday literary bouquet, join Kimberlee Conway Ireton.

 

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