Sabbath Lie

On Friday, at twilight of a summer day While the smells of food and prayer rose from every house And the sound of the Sabbath angels’ wings was in the air, While still a child I started to lie to my father: “I went to another synagogue.” I don’t know if he believed me or not But the taste of the lie was good and sweet on my tongue And in all the houses that night Hymns rose up along with lies To celebrate the Sabbath. And in all the houses that night Sabbath angels died like flies in a lamp, And lovers put mouth to mouth, Blew each other up until they floated upward, Or burst. And since then the lie has been good and sweet on my tongue And since then I always go to another synagogue. And my father returned the lie when he died: “I’ve gone to another life.”