I've been told I look like an orthodox jew
with my long dark hair, long dark skirt
and especially when I wear a hat

my pale skin a gift of celtic ancestry
my largish nose and chin
from an explosive italian mother
not jewish, but raised roman catholic

so I'm not a jew, I'm not anything
I never carried a bible to sunday school
or sat in a pew to listen to a minister
preach hellfire, or sing spirituals in choirs

I slept in and forsook my soul for a bowl
of cornflakes in front of the tv watching
cartoons, sitcoms, 120 Minutes ticking on MTV

I grew up in a loop of the southern bible belt
daughter of transplanted new englanders
I couldn't speak the language, lost
in the syrupy drawl of quoted scripture

I was never forgiven for it and I,
I never forgave them, branding
their christianity hypocrisy
I questioned Hashem

and when I met a man and fell in love
in love with a jew, I never knew
what a big deal it was, it is
for him to carry on with me

a non-jew, a gentile, a shiksa which-
roughly translated from yiddish,
means blemmish

It was hard for the family to see me
as anything other than a threat to
a history of friday night shabbat dinners

but not him, no, for the first time
I was seen, imperfect and whole
and I in return began to see

I've come home in this temple
in this gift of love

12/29/2005

Posted on 12/30/2005
Copyright © 2024 Amanda Conlogue