Oral surgery the day before Rosh Hashanah
Meant I could not eat apples
Nor many of the festival foods
I usually cooked.
I mostly lay in bed in pain,
Sleeping when the pain meds worked;
Moaning when they didn't.
You made me applesauce
From the apples I had bought,
Spicing it with honey and cinnamon.
I lit the candles and mumbled the blessings
Without moving my jaw,
And thanked God for you.
That simple act of love moved me
More than a whole garden of flowers.
That night I kissed your fingers
that still held the delicate fragrance
Of apples, honey, cinnamon.
started September 2011, completed January 2011
(*On Rosh Hashanah , we say a blessing and eat apples dipped in honey)