if we’re all willing

 

the way the peepers sound so loud as I drive by what must be a vernal pool on hamilton road with my windows down, and i can smell spring.

the moment in the Passover seder meal,
hosted two days early
for logistical convenience
in the house where I now
live, (and work) (in the woods with kids)
(the guests are sitting on cushions and couch arms and in armchairs)
in which I have a burning question,
and then allow myself to ask the room for a go-around,
if we’re all willing?

what if the story of slavery was actually ours to hold right here, right now?

then there’s the moment when we finish going around the circle of guests,
a word or two sharing our dreams/aims/aspirations for freedom.
breaking down our own kinds of personal slavery.
when i feel new warmth rising glowing surrounding my body
because there is a certain radiance to vulnerability
especially with a roomful of strangers.

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