The Blessings of Okra

I deem the end of the summer 

beautiful. 

When the okra plant is stripped from

its leafs and fruits,

and only the tall stalk is left:

An elongation of the stem, reaching the sky

coronated by the last seeds.

As we drive past Shfaamer, 

where a family grows bamyeh**,

I witness the stalks -so many,

gathered in one furrow like naked soldiers

held hostages by their own guns.

The sun, infiltrates the thick fig trees

and washes the okra with a bronze hue.

Such an honorable way to die!

Aiming for the highest before going down.

This frozen moment 

that glimpses into the divine

is the way I see the summer ending.

Beautiful.

I’m reminded that today is the Jewish New Year,

as I look at my dad, who is oblivious to all of this-

I allow myself to forgive him.