And on this Yom Kippur
I eat and think of those whose sins
are so much worse than mine

Pained with growing certainty
that those who’ve sinned against us
do not know or care
and utter their repentances
content to start anew

I swallow my sincerity
growing fatter with the knowledge
that those I’ve harmed
will hurt beyond today

And if gods do forgive us,
is atonement with the knowledge
that we’ll only sin again?

Not sin— transgress. We have no sins.
No fall, no fire, no demons in our midst
Only demons of our conscience
know that even our transgressions
will survive beyond this day
this Night

And all our vows— Kol Nidre—
All our vows are swallowed
in the caverns of forgiveness…
True sin we are absolved of
though it permeates false prayers

And on this Yom Kippur I sit
and sing my prayer with covered eyes
(my tallit draped around my hair
like pious women’s scarves)

Avinu Malkeinu our father our king
our mother our queen our parent our—
Forgive me for I have transgressed

I have eaten with the knowledge
that eating is my sin
[should Chava speak,
she may well say the same]

Yet my sin claims no origin
and apples cheer my table
on this blasphemed Yom Kippur

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