It’s getting so all my poems about the Torah
read like a JDate ad campaign run by old Uncle Laban
Jacob, two wives and their handmaidens later
and suddenly a baker’s dozen of children
running around the campground
like they own the place.
My wife and I had the good sense to stop at one.
At least that was my idea; she would have gone on
But thirteen children in the Land of Canaan!
Can you imagine the diaper situation?
We definitely would have used a service.
Despite the obvious allure of gifted sheep
Jacob can’t shake the feeling
There’s no place like home.
Steals away with his family…
with our family
with the stealth of billion dollar technology.
Sets up shop in the Holy Land
where angels meet them
like old neighbors bearing fruit.
Old Uncle Laban
with the sand of night
in his eyes
a stone for a pillow
a ladder to the sky
like we all haven’t found
in the desert
wrestles with himself
at the cornerstone
of a Holy Land,
takes the name Israel,
gives it to all of us.