The scroll unfolded

heavy and high gloss definition finish

$900 for the lift, and the print

wash your hands before you touch it

she focused, serious

under the dim kitchen lamp she was our rabbi

and our grandchild making aaliyah, and our sister

making life

we held our breaths in mute anticipation, open-mouthed

as exhalation would pronounce

The Name, fast 40 days and 40 nights.

It’s beautiful girl,

you name, Miracle Doer

steady hands holding it up bless us all

this bible written in neurons

errors and x-ray slides

cuts and corners folded in to keep its secrets,

you’re one of the discoverers who’ll congregate

in a dense hotel hall worshipping posters

one of yours accepting bows

here I offer my humble sacrifices

in exchange for some mortal hope

some shred of fatalistic optimism

what have we but this

by a half-eaten sandwich and the TV silenced

mothers and daughters stand proudly

admitting faith.

This is your justification, prestige on paper

a title, a method,

an abstract offer

another ancient deal

with a God in a white coat.

Now you’ve seen it

after an eternity in moments she rolled it up

skillfully, letting it hover just above the floor,

and slid it down

into the black cylinder from which it stands,

a forever ago leaned back against wallpaper hollow,

now made a bit less unsure.