Silence

If this ladle could talk, it would share stories of a life so beautiful
how it worked so hard on the day of rest
The feel of Mina’s soft hands
anticipation of being immersed in the
hot, fragrant soup
as it scooped the matzo balls
floating like heavenly bodies
in the balmy broth

it would tell you about the company kept
how it
yearned to touch the crisp, white tablecloth
nearly stroked the golden braided bread
loved to look at the candles burning in the
sterling silver candlesticks
the scent of cinnamon
escaping the spice box

If this ladle could talk, it would sing to you
about
the music of its life
the rhythmic and ancient prayers
rolling from their lips
the family
joined in joyful songs
papa’s booming voice
as he placed his powerful hands on the children’s heads
and blessed them in the name of
Sarah Rachel Rebecca Leah Ephraim Menache

If this ladle could talk, it would share with you
how Mina’s hands became rough and cold
the soup turned to beets
then water
then air

how it
lay entwined with the tablecloth
no longer white
as they huddled together for warmth
hiding in the floor of the cold, dark ghetto

it would cry to you of how it
hungered for its companions
who one by one
disappeared
the spice box, now empty
the candlesticks, stuffed with cotton
when the candles were all gone

If this ladle could talk, it would sing to you
about the prayers, turned to whispers
like papa’s voice
as the blessings
Sarah Rachel Rebecca Leah Ephraim Menache
all gone

it would tell you
of ____