And the table and all his vessels, and the candlestick and his vessels, and the altar of incense…
Can’t recall why that night of all our nights why that night was special. Why mom took the twin brass candle sticks from their forsaken perch on the liquor cabinet and carried them to our kitchen table before dinner and then two white wax candles from God knows where there appear standing within the rounded hollows of her Bubby Chava’s old golden gift gone to patina’s brown. Mom strikes the match head and we three boys see she lights the one next other. As they burn we watch mom no words—her hands wave circles through flame three times to her face aglow then palms cup her eyes closed. We three stand wholly rapt.
Can’t recall why that night of all our nights why that night was special. Why mom took the twin brass candle sticks from their forsaken perch on the liquor cabinet and carried them to our kitchen table before dinner and then two white wax candles from God knows where there appear standing within the rounded hollows of her Bubby Chava’s old golden gift gone to patina’s brown. Mom strikes the match head and we three boys see she lights the one next other. As they burn we watch mom no words—her hands wave circles through flame three times to her face aglow then palms cup her eyes closed. We three stand wholly rapt.
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