Praise Songs
by Linda Eisenstein
- You can't get enough of them. You eat
your peck of dirt, hear more
than your share of bruise and blame,
-
- vomit and loss. Alleluias are few
and far between. You dip your sop
in bitter herbs more than once a year.
-
- Pure praise? We dole it out in miser's
spoonfuls, trying to sweeten oceans
of regret with a single swallow of sugar.
-
- Think of it as homeopathy, this drop,
one clear note piercing the silence like
an angel's cornet. Sometimes it only takes
-
- the one note, blown over and over,
to make walls crumble. Think Jericho.
Think juju. Let your head swell
-
- like dough rising, dip the bread
in warm gravy for a change. Drink in
the sweet wine, wash out the year's dregs.
-
- Don't taste and retaste your own bile.
You're not a cow. Each morning is fresh,
like dew. Even a tear is nothing but salt water.
- © 1998 Linda Eisenstein
-
- First published in Whirligig, Winter 2001
-
-