By Jared Beloff
Yesterday, a boy chanted “Death to Jews” in class
and I felt the floor open up as a ravine from a treeless village
in another continent.
In daycare, my daughter covers her eyes,
sings to the Queen of the Sabbath:
the sun over the treetops
no longer is seen.
My knees clenched at its muddy lip,
a shoe sprayed dirt down into the open wound.
I won’t look at the boy’s face.
Birds shape letters in the sky
fly as a seam joining the horizon. Flames
reach up for a remembered prayer—
Draw nigh, with angels.
We are all bodies
shadowed by the sun.
The children break bread, drink grape juice
with a straw. My daughter smiles.
The sun over the treetops no longer is seen.
Go forth in peace. Until the coming of the Sabbath.
Jared Beloff is a teacher and poet who lives in Queens, NY with his wife and two daughters. His debut poetry collection, Who Will Cradle Your Head, is out now with ELJ Press. He is the editor of the Marvel-inspired poetry anthology, Marvelous Verses. You can find his work in Contrary Magazine, Barren Magazine, Night Heron Barks, The Shore and elsewhere. He is online at www.jaredbeloff.com and on Twitter @Read_Instead.
