Day of Atonement

                           (Yom Kippur)

All my relatives across the country
   are praying for forgiveness for sins of thought
   or true onslaught; for greed or sloth
   or unconscious blots.
They’re not praying to be pardoned
   for not trusting that I was ill, when I was ill.
   I moved to a place that might help me heal
   which worked, somewhat.
They want me back; I have forgiven them, I think.
   but can’t return; there’s no money
   there are still doctors; I did try once,
   prodigal daughter.

But they were busy, though they said
   they’d do anything;  I forgave that too, I think.
   I miss them, and think of them tonight
   huddled in synagogue
Saying Lord our God, King of the Universe
   and mourning the dead, and renouncing bread
   at least for a day.
   I long to be with them
We have a history, so many histories
   some of them happy; but will they seek absolution
   for dismissing my illness,
   my pain, me?

Perhaps they’ve forgotten  those dreadful years;
   can they be blamed  or ignorance? except now they
   they’ve become enlightened over the years
   they tell stories of this “poor one” or that,
Who is like me, but isn’t. They say, Isn’t it a shame?
   send clippings from the paper, or say,
   watch this show,  but they have never actually
   mourned their own flesh and blood
Who sits here now in the fading light, writing solo,
   awaiting the return of husband and child
   who were also shunned.
   Soon we will chant, light candles for our dead
Ask that we too be forgiven, the three of us supplicating
   on a mountain high enough, almost,
   to see home, and yet too far
   for them to see us
If they tried.

c Julianza Shavin circa 2003