Mikveh

מקווה

     There is a cistern
          on the synagogue’s roof
     and a drain pipe in the wall
leading to a small basement pool.
There are two witnesses, a rabbi
    and one not-yet-Jew.

       They are all women.
                  No one feigns modesty.
The convert waits
       naked and trimmed,
              no minerals on the skin,
     shadow down the drain.
              There is no magic in plain water.

All the exile of the world
             comes from the back of the tongue.
      Give a palate enough dirt
                       and it will soil on its own.
    The choke of someone unused
                 to eating dirt
                     is quieter than it should be.

        However loud, there is no one around.
                         Maybe there is an ancestor to listen.
     Certainly somewhere is a child
     who would not recognize this building
           unless it were on fire.
Learning to read from engravings
             on blackened stones,
what would you do
    when presented a book?

Do not mistake the rabbi
      for the one who condemns.
  Damnation is often
                             a personal choice.
          Witnesses turn toward the empty pool,
the convert curls her toes.

     She may think this drowning
is all that’s left
          but there is no magic
   in plain water.
        This is a ritual
                        not a spell.
                 The words
                    are less important:

          “Ghetto was first our island.
         When we entered the ocean,
                    whether to bathe
                      or to drown,
   we always knew which shore
      we’d wash up on.

“We taught our children
    to tuck stars under their shirts.
         Our god let the slaves die
    in the desert

              and we called it mercy.
         We only fell in love
     with those who knew
        how to run.”

She doesn’t look up,
         doesn’t nod,
               takes the smooth steps
         into the pool
           and pauses to breathe

                before pulling her hair under
       and lifting her feet
         so it’s water only
                           all around.

Source: Poetry (October 2019)