Chag sameach, friends. May you too escape your own Egypt on this day.
A Spell for Burial
"Bury me in the garden/ So that I can feed you"--Garden by Gregory Alan Isakov
When your father taught you to ride a bike,
He ran along behind you as you pedaled
You must learn to let go
Holding the back of your seat so that you wouldn't fall and skin your young knees
And you do not know, could never know
Putting down the heaviest things is always the hardest
The force it took for him to release his fingers
Unwrap them from that metal post and watch your young legs pedal
Nothing lasts forever, even you
Away from him and you did not, could not know
How much he missed you that day, as you petaled away
So when I die you must burry me in the garden
And brought a piece of his heart along with you
Because you remember that when you turned around and shouted "I did it"
And I will feed your winding beanstalk, your perennial thyme
He was wearing a huge smile and told you
"I'm so proud."
You do not need remember me.
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