Every spring,
before Passover
I wash pots and wipe down shelves,
scrub syrup stains
and sweep pretzel crumbs.
Open bags are examined for ants
and embalmed in plastic.
Out of date items tossed.
Everything is made spotless
for Seder,
so we can sit down as a family,
all of us together,
to read how the Angel of Death
passed over
doorposts marked in blood.
This year we will sing
louder than ever before
as we ask for signs and wonders:
Tumors gobbled by grasshoppers.
Plagues subsiding by dawn.
Cancer drowned in the sea.

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