Wailing Wall.

I thought I would come home from the Wall
asking myself, "Where is my God?" And,
like Santa, did He receive my notes for what I would like

for life? Instead, I come back, laden with presents
to ward off the evil eye, like a pagan princess.
I come back to no new messages (of course

everyone knew I was prostrating myself
and could not be reached.) But, as I turned my back
on thick tomato sauce and walked with purpose

away from a wall of margins and lines, I now
wake up too early and wonder if I am too building
a rock on high ground, in order to fall. It is convenient

the lining up of stones amongst the three powers.
It is convenient that the cradle of civilization
was the site of all important events. The same could be said

of my kitchen table. But no one will build a shrine
around it. Except me.