Sukkot 

by Noel Joshua Hadley

THE last anyone thought to look at the time

it was seventeen minutes past midnight,

and so far as I can tell,

no one is eager to tether their silver chord

to the transistor radio of dreams.

The fire plays her usual duality game.

Flickering flames pursue shadows for dance partners,

illuminating numerous faces that I know.

Our drink is heavy according to Deuteronomy 14:26.

Someone christens the bottle ‘Chapter and Verse’

as we pass it around—laughing merrily.

The sainthood pulsates in the firmament above us.

Even the Sea of Souls is faintly visible.

I silently imagine my prior life in the Highway of Milk,

particularly the fateful moment before the cup of forgetfulness

was passed around and Layla came looking for us.

My wife and I must have pinky swore

that we would locate each other

in the womb of the earth.

Someone finishes their inquiry into personal identity.

We sit in council considering his position

regarding the House of Israel

and its status as a first-born son.

Already, someone else can’t help themselves

but to invoke predestination.

Orange light exposes a pendulum swing of the eyes

but most of us are willing to hear him out.

I think of a name and tell my friends

to send the liquor their way.

It gets passed in a circle and returns void,

which only manages to add melancholy commentary

to the vacant chair at the family reunion.

As a kind reminder, we have a box of cigars,

conversation and wood bundles to last the week,

and an invitation for you to come.