Our Donkey
My brother would
carry me on his back
to the stall,
on nights
we both
couldn’t sleep.
Our donkey
waiting for us there—
the only
one penned.
Whenever we
could scavenge scraps,
we’d bring it
whatever we had.
I’d feed it,
my brother
still supporting
me on his back.
My brother hugging
my legs wrapped
around his waist
as I fed our donkey
the scrounged scraps.
I wondered if
it dreamt of
being a cow
plowing fields
or a Roman horse
preparing for battle.
One day,
without any
explanation,
it was gone.
The pen,
empty.
carry me on his back
to the stall,
on nights
we both
couldn’t sleep.
Our donkey
waiting for us there—
the only
one penned.
Whenever we
could scavenge scraps,
we’d bring it
whatever we had.
I’d feed it,
my brother
still supporting
me on his back.
My brother hugging
my legs wrapped
around his waist
as I fed our donkey
the scrounged scraps.
I wondered if
it dreamt of
being a cow
plowing fields
or a Roman horse
preparing for battle.
One day,
without any
explanation,
it was gone.
The pen,
empty.
Q:
would a rabbi have a donkey?