P
God says the price of freedom is blood
in the water and plague in the home and livestock
laying dead in the field and boils
on skin and frogs running wild and pestilence
locusts that herald a wave of famine
and cover the skies with hail and fire
and strangle their days with darkness.
And …
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a poem by Suzanne Musin
Maybe my soul remembers.
I sit at the table in Egypt
and so will my daughters and so will theirs
and so will I, this year, alone.
Maybe it’s my blood that remembers
the blood of a sacrificial lamb
that marks our doorposts, trusting
the Angel of Death will pass …
P
a poem by Suzanne Musin
The rabbis claim ten plagues, or forty,
two hundred, or more.
I killed a locust myself in the kitchen,
wondering what it meant. Did the locust come
to protect me or am I the one cursed?
We are walking out of Egypt now
and the dough cooked without rising.
Five …
