The Jewish soul walks into a synagogue, finds the sanctuary
and sits down among the musty pews,
picks up a siddur and pretends to read Hebrew. It’s looking for something to feel holy,
what it knows is inside, but wanting to suck
the outside in to feel real. But there is nothing to suck in except the closet smell
of dead grandparents. There are no real grandfathers anymore. There are no real grandmothers anymore.