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First of a series of love poems for Ann S. (2001-2002)

Are You Jewish?

Am I Jewish?
Menorah in hand, you smile,
soft fingers caress the brass,
circle each empty hole
searching for the candles.
Other than a few close friends
and circumcision, that's the
closest I've been to being Jewish.

This menorah balanced in your hand
was willed to me after the death
of a friend of my father.
A Jewish tailor by trade,
found sitting in his easy-chair,
cigarette ashes piled on the rug
burnt out for three days,
exactly one year after his wife had died.

The way your face lit up
when you asked me "Are you Jewish?"
as you touched the menorah again
with your finger tips.
What did you expect to find?
A kindred spirit,
a religious experience,
the Torah on my bookshelf?

Well my raven-haired friend,
when I answered no,
your souls candle lost the flame
that would keep this menorah burning
into the next millennium or
flood the Guff with its light
and this Goy regrets the day
he was born a Christian.

WayneRay 13:32, 2 December 2007 (UTC)WayneRay

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