Another Black Kippah
Another Black Kippah
The trowel makes a swoosh sound,
as it enters the bucket.
Scooping up a sample,
of clay and loam.
Mother earth’s skin.
I let it fall
into the manmade gouge.
Where it lands
with the rat-a-tat echo,
like hail on a metal roof.
Process repeated.
Kaddish read
Tears shed
Nothing, everything said,
in our silent procession,
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