Crab Orchard Review Vol. 12, No. 2, our

Elizabeth Rees
First Offering
When the doorbell rang, your hand
reached out from sleep, as if to stop
the door from opening, even the air.
Please, don’t, your palm begged.
A line of ghosts—Abraham, Isaac
and Sarah—followed the mohel.
When he lifted his prayer shawl,
wrapping it over his shoulders, they sat
beside me, wobbling on the couch.
The man came to us with a satchel full of God
and named you Noah—
to live to study Torah and stand
under the canopy,
to wail your way back to Abraham’s tent.
As I was witness, three men held you:
the sandek kept you on his lap,
Elijah beheld you from his chair,
your father carried you all the hours after.
It is said that God punished an evil world,
all but Noah, who was good,
and for forty days and nights, floods—forgive us
your tears. You were only eight days old,
you hadn’t even laughed yet. Your strong legs
kicked and fought. Wine on your tongue would not
console, could never dull such loneliness.
Our ancient book wailed under your hands:
Have mercy, show mercy, mercy.
180 ◆ Crab Orchard Review