Irene Hammer Poet Rhyme

Woman Scorned: A Yom Kippur Prayer

Here I stand, a godless monk
Without account, my soul is sunk.
My name won’t make the Book of Life
’Cause I’ve been such a cruel ex-wife.

I cursed you in a thousand ways
(There’s been no “high” in holidays.)
The one with whom anew you’d start:
I wished she’d crush your faithless heart.

I hoped in Leadville the spill you’d take
Would leave your back with chronic ache.
A gleeful anticipation would start to thrive
While imagining you cut a wire live.

So, here’s my prayer, albeit unholy:
I wish my thoughts were a bit less lowly.
If I can’t be good, at least I hope to find God
So I can achieve a peaceful facade.

Though rage may be slow to subside,
This year I hope to turn the tide.
While never shall I wish you well
Next year, no longer I’ll hope you in hell.

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