A glass shatters of its own accord, but it is forbidden to
Use the broom within reach, the broom for non-observant days.
The liquid beautifully mixes with shards of glass and
Flirtatious prisms of color, calling in the Sabbath.
The accumulation of soupy matter sitting on the
Far end of the counter dribbles with great care and
Gently splashes your homemade crochet slippers which,
Thank The Almighty, you have chosen to wear this morning.
It would be pure shame to intermingle your hand with
Tools or trinkets of beauty, so you remain covered under a
Wiry wig nestled with lies and hordes of Babylonian
Lust shielded from the eyes of God and gentiles.
Such a tumultuous start to a day filled with
Peace and prayer and pareve dishes overly
Salted in lieu of flavor beckoning to the
Ancestors who bore your sins and drank your
Guilt greedily from the hands of Grandfathered misers.
Your sons rush in to greet you followed by the
Holiness of the day, but you are frozen. Torn between
Tradition laced with rules and the curse of the law upon which the
Foundation of your home has nestled itself safely.
Without hesitation you are given the broom by
Your husband, the head of your household along with
A morning kiss slathered in comfort and morning breath.
He will understand, your husband assures you of God’s
Reaction to such labor on the Sabbath.
Clean the shards of the glass and milky remnants
And hide from your sin beneath layers of
Kosher clothing and Torah and such a lack of
Understanding, it hurts to strain that you are crushing beneath
The freedom of truth.