A psalm of Hannah.
Not G-d's favorite
But the toiling other
Who spoke of cooption
And evil so commonplace
It rose with the sun to meet us on our way to work
And with the moon to lull us to sleep in our beds.
This Hannah was not weeping
But writing and gasping.
For while others walked and talked in circle
She walked to the outer limit
And in outrage, took out her pen
And drew her own path far from home.