Ritualwell

Tradition & Innovation

Salakh

hebrew letters
The irony of this poem is
That I am 
Exhausted by words.
 
Slavish, ephemeral sounds
Carried over ether,
Etched nowhere,
Not even upon the heart.
 
Swaddled in my tallis,
Amid 100 birthing cries,
Prone, I lay,
Breathing the scent of soil:
The ancestors.
 
Adamah washes away
A mouthful of summer-fallowed words.
What I have come to crave is the solid.
 
With soiled hands of an earthly potter, 
I sweep away flaked remnants of hope,
That utterances alone 
Are powerful enough for human creation.
My hands shall deliver a vessel of clay.
A seal,
Fused with the power of Eish,
Consecration branded into its body: 
Salakh.
 
On these cool autumn days,
As Ruakh once whispered rakhamim
Above a landscape of chaos,
I, in kind,
Exhale depleted letters
Of a departed vision,
Calmly watching them drift,
Settle,
And come to rest.

Ritualwell content is available for free thanks to the generous support of readers like you! Please help us continue to offer meaningful content with a donation today. 

 

Sign up for our newsletter

Poem

Join now!

 

Want the latest news from Ritualwell?

Subscribe for the latest rituals, online learning opportunities, and unique Judaica finds from our store. Plus special discounts for subscribers!

* indicates required