"a woman of valor, who can find?”
on friday night, he used to sing to me.
i stared at the braided bread
and the candlesticks and
my folded fingers and
wondered why i could not
stuff my heart with white linen
to feel full.
he doesn’t sing anymore, he doesn’t
have time for that, because it has
nothing to do with
instead he brings home
grocery store daisies, swooning
in their green plastic dress,
and tosses them on the counter
to clip and tame and curate -
i’m good at that,
at silent flower arrangement,
because my heart is
overgrown with violets
and that’s why
he never fit.
“a woman of valor, who can find?”
i found you.
we found each other.
we lived together and
for and with our friends, every friday,
and then afterward
we would stumble home giggling
to turn on a recording of our
favorite metal band,
and then we would sink into the couch,
laughing a garland of rainbows.
i am so sorry i was colorblind,
there we were—
and then we weren’t.
like one of your pomegranates
we cracked apart, bleeding
and we circled our husbands
when i light candles now,
in the quiet after my children
are soothed to sleep,
if you still knead
honey and salt into your challah,
if you still like wine that smells
like cherries and turns your lips purple,
if we could have circled each other
if i had known.
Elisheva Fox’s poetry has appeared in Berru—a publication by the Jewish
Book Council—Dark Moon Lilith Magazine, and Allegory Ridge's poetry
anthology, Aurora. She braids her late-blooming queerness, Texan
sensibilities, motherhood, and faith into poetry. Some of her other pieces
can be found on Instagram @elisheva.fox