I retrieve my small
glass table from
the neglected and
overgrown backyard
where it has endured
storms, smog, fog, soot
from the oil refinery fire
beneath the landlady’s
battered canvas canopy,
among the weeds, for
nearly six years, her
promise to clear out
the yard and make it
sweet never kept. In
the kitchen I wash
the table’s dirt-filmed
glass top, its metal
rim and curving legs,
spray them with Windex
and wipe again and again
as if I could wipe away
the neglect, the crazy
disorganization and
broken agreements
with paper towels.
Some relationships are
irreparable, some never
began, and some will never
go anywhere, like a beat-up
old Buick abandoned in a
vacant lot on a dead-end
street. Sometimes you just
have to cut your losses,
take back your table, lug
it up the narrow, weed-choked
walk, ease it awkwardly
through the doorway and
down the hall, make a spot
for it in the garage, under
piles of empty boxes and
old suitcases, releasing hope,
making peace with things
and people
as they are.

Netzakh sheh’b’yesod
Victory/will within foundation

This poem is part of Rabbi Diane Elliot’s collection of 49 poems, This Is the Day, Ha-Yom Yom, inspired by the ancient practice of counting the Omer.