for eight nights, no matter what else i have done during the day, felt or said, i have had this box of 44 candles from wegman’s supermarket around the corner, and this menorah that i purchased on rue des rosiers in the jewish quarter in paris on my kitchen table next to an arrangement of dead flowers that, as yet, says nothing to me about wanting to be thrown away. i have come home from where ever i have been & made my blessings and lit my candles — for eight nights. and tonight is the eighth night. the end of chag (the holiday). and i feel it. feel the empty candle box. feel the aluminum foil under the menorah – wax drippings heavy to the right, decreasing as you move left towards the spaces where candles are lit only once or twice a year.
i want a jelly doughnut and a hug. it is the end of chag.