by Beth Kanell (Waterford, VT)
Rain returned as we met the new year. She danced,
spread perfumed presence. Rosh Chodesh Elul sang to us.
Mouths wet at last, our tongues merged in prayer, chanted
gratitude. Thirst assuaged.
The calendar refreshed proclaims the Days of Awe.
Yesterday’s air, dry with drought, hung dusty with death—
now the tree trembles, as droplets pelt the leaves,
soak into soil. Roots
demand tenderness. Who longs for honey on the tongue,
while the hills bruise to umber, tarnished with gold, splashed
with blood-bright crimson? The weather forecast misses this:
proposes paper profiles
as we taste promises. Out to sea, cyclones seethe. Rain
may increase this evening. The first day of the Jewish new year
starts at sundown, rarely the same day of an autumn month
the calendar also dancing
which is why we are picking apples in such rain; wind could
scatter them on the ground, bruise them, aromatic invitation
to passing deer, who devour in darkness. We are almost ready,
recipes laid out. Memories
of grandparents and of children’s questions. Of answers
that we can’t yet believe. Of what we could not prevent: raw
grief for the unrescued, the damaged, the struggle to praise
as we witness death. Wash
with tenderness. Fruit, too, desires cool water. Paring. A wiped
board for sorting, slicing, blade laid to red-green apple peel
that curls in crisp helix around our fingers. Regrets, resolutions:
a busy kitchen, scrubbed hands,
heart shaken and struck by the evening news. Rain splashes,
weeping. It falls on the just and the unjust, the judged, the parched
urgency of the garden in autumn as squash ripens, carrots swell,
atonement hesitates, the Taurid meteors
spit fireballs across September’s crisp crust. Aroma of apples.
Of my mother’s cinnamon willingness, my father’s tobacco,
the sour tang of sweat and fear in any crowded room. Open doors
admit fresh forgiveness: hear the rain.
Beth Kanell lives in northeastern Vermont among rivers, rocks, and a lot of writers. Her poems seek comfortable seats in small well-lit places, including Lilith Magazine, The Comstock Review, Indianapolis Review, Gyroscope Review, The Post-Grad Journal, Does It Have Pockets?, Anti-Heroin Chic, Ritualwell, Persimmon Tree, Northwind Treasury, RockPaperPoem, and Rise Up Review. Her collection Thresholds is due in early 2026 from Kelsay Books. Join her for conversation (bring your own tea) at https://bethkanell.blogspot.com.
The Jewish Writing Project 