Anointing the Living

I don't have an alabaster bottle to accompany my tears,

But I have the tallow from the Brisket Jason smoked last Sunday.

I've rendered the fat clean and whipped it with olive oil, vitamin E, and Lavender.

Ever fanciful, she pretends we are Indians slathering ourselves with Bear Grease.


I don't have swaddling clothes and we no longer wrap the bodies, 

But I have white Wal Mart washcloths soaked in hot water until they steam.

I've washed them in Borax and Downy; and have wrung them out before handing them to her. 

Ever grateful, she sighs in comfort, cleans, and passes them back until they come back white.


Even if the acts are menial, even if the consequences of living transfer to my skin, 

I am anointing the living, Tahara while she wakes and still can tell me of her love. 

She-ma yirsrael, adonai eloheinu, adonai echad. Hear, oh my soul, she is my momma, who loves.





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