It's cold and lonely on the day without Jews
Like I am invisible
Without the knowing touch, the wily laugh,
The snow-white expectation of the impossible.
The bread that's broken has a saltless crust
Without the case or song plied for a piece,
Or the knowledge of my absurdity as I ate.
It's seems like nothing's moving
On the day without Jews,
As figures mope like desultory ghosts
And the reason we are doing this together
Seems like an ancient code, not a holy rite.
There is no talk of Chinese food,
Or the reason for the blues,
Or how to ask for what you want
On forbidden avenues,
There's only base reality
Staring back like an electric eye
As if life is for dying.
On the day without Jews
Your only friends are objects,
Which are only what they seem,
And what is can never be seen
As what should be.
It's all we can do to not admit
A family curse still rules us.
It's all we can do to not pretend
We think more of ourselves ...
While the Jews are reading
Backwards in their books
To find their way back here again,
We still look blankly forward
As at a heaven up ahead
We'll never reach.
