The Hand:


My sister shows me how to be
Bound in tefillin in our kitchen
Swinging her strong arm in
Sweeping arcs, her deft
Short fingered hands reaching seven
Loops before I even have the time to look

Shows me how to lay my
Shin by wrapping my curse
Finger three times
Like the three sisters
In our family.

            “Sh,” it says maternal comfort,
            “Sh,” it says eternity,

She adjusts the box on my bicep
Beside my most important rib,
Making sure each muscle
Has the space to do its job
Together.

                 Yod, like seven down the arm,
                 And it says ai,
                 And it says I.

The Head:

Sarah ties the letter to my head
Shin to head and dalled to spine
Cool straps flapping by my ears

Sh a dai
“Shadai” my sister says
Pointing to the letters on my skin
Which smells like bread,
And which smells like candlesticks,
And which smells like water,
And sometimes smells
Like sawdust and wine
And bonfire ash.

“Shadai is God” she says as though the word never
Had a vanity

As though we never had a vanity.