I used to search for you in the produce
aisle at Stop & Shop before Passover.
You were lanky and gnarled, your rooty
rump fresh from the soil, medieval
like a spiky vegetarian bludgeon,
ready for battle. You were more
than a girl like me would need for show
on the seder plate and my obligatory bite
of bitters. I buried you to grow invasive
as a weed, then deracinate you
before the holiday each year,
unclenching your stubborn claws.
I chop you, give chunks away to those
who think you come naturally magenta,
steeped in vinegar and beets from a jar.
When they taste the real you,
unvarnished, flat bread and flashbacks
thrash in their packs, as they pray
for release from unsung servitudes,
tears running down their cheeks.
This piece is a part of the Berru Poetry Series, which supports Jewish poetry and poets on PB Daily. JBC also awards the Berru Poetry Award in memory of Ruth and Bernie Weinflash as a part of the National Jewish Book Awards. Click here to see the 2023 winner of the prize. If you’re interested in participating in the series, please check out the guidelines here.
Pamela Wax, an ordained rabbi, is the author of Walking the Labyrinth (Main Street Rag, 2022) and the forthcoming chapbook, Starter Mothers (Finishing Line Press). Her poems have received a Best of the Net nomination and awards from Crosswinds, Paterson Literary Review, Poets’ Billow, Oberon, and the Robinson Jeffers Tor House. She has been published in literary journals including Barrow Street, About Place Journal, Tupelo Quarterly, Mudfish, Connecticut River Review, Naugatuck River Review, Pedestal, Split Rock Review, Sixfold, and Passengers Journal. She offers spirituality and poetry workshops online from her home in the Northern Berkshires of Massachusetts.
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