Day After Yom Kippur

And then there was the time,
say it was last night,
when you were in bed with your love
after a day of doing
so many grown-up things
and a day when you were reminded
that the moment the gates close,
the moment the Book of Life is sealed
for another year, you are left
standing with yourself,
perhaps a bit closer to your God,
perhaps a bit closer to your best,
but so very human, nonetheless.

It was a day, say it was yesterday,
when you tended and created,
managed and delivered,
followed through —
in other words, all the things
you are supposed to do
and generally take some pride in doing
with care.

But you were also imperfect,
unaware, maybe not amazing
at keeping track of time
or noticing as someone dear
drifted away.

All that talk, all that praying,
all that atoning, and what do you get?

A brand new chance to practice,
congratulations, you get to be here,
you get a new year, you get to live,
you get to apologize, you get to do better,
you get to catch the transgression
before it turns into death
by a thousand cuts,
you get to order take-out,
you get to fall into bed with your person
and tell her everything before laughing
at your own incoherence
and then in the very same breath
the laughing becomes crying
and your head is on her chest
and the tears are coming
and you remember
that forgiveness
is not an annual event
but a daily one.

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