1.
The confused Jewish artists on my bookshelf:
confusing chutzpah for passion,
drinking themselves into a cloud of Manischewitz,
forgetting to call their mothers.
2.
The confused Jewish artists on my bookshelf:
accidentally painting crucifixes,
going to Zen retreats,
putting kippahs on sculptures of the Buddha.
3.
The confused Jewish artists on my bookshelf:
wrestling with angels,
having thumb wars with the Virgin Mary (and losing).
4.
The confused Jewish artists on my bookshelf:
arguing about diaspora,
yelling about Marxism,
moaning about Netanyahu.
5.
The confused Jewish artists on my bookshelf:
sticking cloves into oranges,
complaining about the weather,
slyly eating lobster in Montauk.
6.
The confused Jewish artists on my bookshelf:
talking about all the Nobel prizes they’ve won,
telling stories about getting drunk on their Birthright trip,
promising to never ever buy eggnog again.
7.
The confused Jewish artists on my bookshelf:
searching for old desks and family history,
visiting the graveyards for those afforded such luxury.
8.
The confused Jewish artists on my bookshelf:
rushing through their Passover Haggadot;
yelling at Elijah to hurry up already,
we don’t have all night;
slamming the door in his stupid prophet face.
Hannah writes about many things; primarily the space between Judaism and feminism, talking flowers, post-memory, and sometimes seals. Her work has been published in Werd, The Bolinas Hearsay, The Fem, and Bearings Online, among others.