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On Pesach

Small silver face

out of the gray:


How did you get here?

I always knew I had the right


to be an existentialist.


We are stomping,

on the bosom of Satan.


Our cold-blooded hands

holding flags.


I have seen it happen.

Satan fell behind,


clumsy on a treadmill,



It was a taxi’s shadow above us:


Mary held Jesus,

the bus speeding, NOT IN SERVICE.

Posted 04/03/15
Inspired by Fanny Howe- most of the lines are taken from the titles of each poem in her book On The Ground (Graywolf Press, 2014). A version of this poem was written for PoMoSco (http://www.pomosco.com)
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