by Brandon Marlon
We, the people, reenact our salvation,
recollecting over matzah and merlot
the tide of events escorting us forth
from servitude to liberty; perennially imperiled,
we dismiss millennia and return to the sea
–pulsing, swelling, heaving, churning, surging–
and visualize pillars of cloud or fire,
feeling jagged wilderness underfoot.
We scent anew the Tabernacle’s myrrh,
shiver from the chill of desert at night.
Downing mouthfuls of kreplach and squab,
who can help wonder if even manna
from heaven ever tasted this savory,
and of what sauce complements quail?
Eventually, Nirtzah nears, and it occurs
to those bibulous but moderately alert that
from that time to this, queries differ little:
How long till we reach our land of promise?
Will providence purvey along the journey?
Song closes the eve once all have received
just deserts, deified tyrant and angel of death alike,
in the storied order that restores, reviving survivors,
heartening the young, renewing hope in spirits that yearn.
Brandon Marlon is a writer from Ottawa, Canada. He received his B.A. in Drama & English from the University of Toronto and his M.A. in English from the University of Victoria. His poetry was awarded the Harry Hoyt Lacey Prize in Poetry (Fall 2015), and his writing has been published in 300+ publications in 30 countries. www.brandonmarlon.com