A loaf of bread, a sprig of herbs, a bowl of fruit.
Whole, unbroken, waiting.
Hopeful, pregnant, yearning.
Their fragrance trapped, goodness bound,
longing to be set free.
~
Can I step in from the dusty road?
Wash my feet, my face, my hands?
Can I take the knife and break
the bread?
Crush the herbs of bitter pain?
~
Perhaps I, too, will be broken.
No tears spared.
No easy Passover fare.
Greenbelt, 31 August 2015