At the Table

*from One With Willows, copyright 2019 by Joan Myles*

We raise our glasses,

wash our hands ceremoniously,

dip our greens and boiled eggs in salt water.

We read,

and remember,

and sing songs of praise.

In the middle of it all, we eat—

matzo ball soup and fish loaf for tradition,

pomegranate chicken and parsley potatoes for today.

And this morning, you are the wicked child,

the one who asks, “What does this mean to you?”

“You are not unredeemable,” I assure.

“There is always a place at the table for you.”

And you hug me tight,

my bad boy,

who never stops questioning the world,

the reason for pain and war and strife,

who never stops loving me.