There are so many new poets, sometimes it’s hard to remember how many good poets have come and gone! Here’s Bert Meyer’s homage to a wonderful allium.
The Garlic
Rabbi of condiments,
whose breath is a verb,
wearing a thin beard
and a white robe;
you who are pale and small
and shaped like a fist,
a synagogue,
bless our bitterness,
transcend the kitchen
to sweeten death—
our wax in the flame
and our seed in the bread.
Now, my parents pray,
my grandfather sits,
my uncles fill
my mouth with ashes.
Bert Meyers, “The Garlic” from In a Dybbuk’s Raincoat: Collected Poems.