Prayer Poem

Shekhinah,

Thank you for my Nice Jewish man, who doesn't have to pretend to a stiff upper lip,
Who can whine like I do when i have a cold,
Who can--and will--spend the years it takes to grow up with me,
While I grow beside him.
Who can find the humor in my flaws as I laugh while locating for him
the Peanut butter in the fridge, literally in front of my nose.

And, Shekhinah, if only his mother were alive to be my mother-in-law,
I would embrace her with love and laugh over any gimlet eye
Turned in my house-cleaning.
"Mother-in-law", I would beg her,
"Teach me how you do it so well,
For I will never be the balabusta you are."
In truth, she would soon realize, I will never be a balabusta
At all. And maybe hire me a cleaning lady.

Oh, Shekhinah,
Help me above all not to buy into
Anglo-Saxon Protestant cultural values that say that no one
Should drop by unannounced.
Remind me, instead, of the richness of my own
Immigrant culture that values closeness,
And men with real feelings, exposed,
And that has, for more time than our memories can hold,
Created both men and women with wits and drive,
Creativity and comedy,
And the wisdom to love one another as we are. 

After a poem in Lilith Magazine