The Reasons for Liturgy
Because the woman on the subway wore red pants
and a hospital bracelet and sat alone
Because the train stalled at 137th St.
and the woman wanted to be home in her bed
Because my husband stumbled upon a broken clay pot
and threw out the baby ficus with the shards
Because my son cried, Where’s my ficus?
I watched its first sprout, dreamed of each new leaf
Because my son and I rummaged through
the trash bags in the basement recycling room
Because our gloved hands groped
pizza boxes, milk cartons, crumpled tissues
Because the words in my notebook offered
no comfort on the stalled train
Because a painting is titled Sadder than a single star
that sets at twilight in a land of reeds
Because my son and I scoured twenty bags of trash
and we didn’t find the baby ficus
Because the rabbi said the spiritual life takes place
between the difficult and the impossible
Because everyone on the train
was dying and living at the same time
Because every year we recite Aveinu Malkeinu
to summon God who has no gender
Because we pray to be renewed
and three weeks later we are exactly the same
Because my son and I hugged in the elevator
and the stench of rubbish lingered on our skin
Because the woman on the subway
was reading a Russian novel
Because the title of the painting
is sadder than the painting
Because words deceive
but prayers are here to stay
Because the train began to move
and the woman’s shoes were the color of a robin’s egg
Because of all this, God of forgiveness: pardon us, forgive us, grant us atonement
Ann Gottleib is a novelist and poet. Her debut novel, The Beautiful Possible, was a finalist for a National Jewish Book Award and Edward Lewis Wallant Award. She lives in New York City.
