Poem: Yom Kippur (Day of Atonement)

— by Linda Pastan —

A tree beside the synagogue atones

of all its leaves. Within the ram’s horn blows

and sins come tumbling down to rest among

old cigarettes and handkerchiefs. My sins

are dried and brittle now as any leaves

and barely keep me warm. I have atoned

for them before, burned clean by October,

lulled by the song of a fasting belly.

But sins come creeping back like wayward girls,

and leaves return to willing trees for spring.

From “A Perfect Circle of Sun,” Swallow Press, 1971