Yom Kippur: I Want More

This is a scrappy poem I put together, built on my frustrations about how hard it is to tap into the holiness and opportunity of Yom Kippur when you're a mother of small children. When you complain about not being able to sit for hours in shul (yes, I actually would like to) or mentally prepare for the prayer and immerse yourself in the magnitude of the day, people like to say, "You're a mother, it's hard, that's how it is. You're not alone." I get that, and trust me I love the validation. But, alas, it's also frustrating. When you want more. I would never "trade" my children for anything (duh), but in all honesty, I deeply crave those days when it was just me to take care of and I could go to classes and read and felt totally in tune with spirituality and holidays and...know what I mean? Sorry if this is me being a debbie-downer. But I hope some mamas out there relate! ~ Mimi

Yom Kippur: I Want More

Holiest day of the year

Coming to mock me, have me fear 

The part of me that's not alive

Not quite dead, but not quite there

There to hear the dear sounds of self awakening

And accounting and growing and consciousness

Don't tell me I'm a mama so this is what it is!

Holiest day of the year 

Coming with a telegraph that says 

Get your act together

And stop acting

Listen to what's real

But I am busy and rushed and busy and rushed 

I can't bother to open the mail

Don't tell me I'm a mama so this is acceptable!

Holiest day of the year

Arrives on my doorstep

Comes in uninvited, pushes me aside 

Rustled my belongings and says

I don't care what your life is like

You must feel me before I go

But I am not ready, I am frozen

Don't tell me I'm a mama so this is normal!

Holiest day of the year

Loves me, cares for me, wants to coddle me

Comes with renewal and opportunity 

And yet my hands are not grabbing for its hug

Because all I hear is the lost opportunity and 

How unprepared I am to grab the reigns 

Because I'm busy thinking 

Life

Isn't

Supposed

To

Be

Like

This

Don't tell me I'm a mama so this will be alright!

The holiest day of the year

Taps me on the shoulder

Whispers to me

Its fine, breathe, calm down

I will wait

I am patient

Just show up

Shed a tear from this poem

That's all I ask

But deep down this will not do

What do you take me for?

I want more

What do you take me for?

I

Want

More

Don't tell me I'm a mama so this is will have to do!

The holiest day of the year

And all I have

Is a broken poem

My frustrations and yearnings 

And potential zooming past

Swallowed in the every day tasks 

And a deep wanting for more 

Wanting

For 

More

G-d, only You know me

Only You, only You

Only You know me

What do I have to give you?

My thoughts are sloppy

My molecules are thin

My ego is bruised but huge

Don't tell me I'm a mama and it's okay

And this will have to do

When what I want

Is the holiest day of the year 

My want
Is a want
Is a powerful and stirring want
For the holiest day of the year 

And this
Well, this is my exchange, this is my substitute, this is my atonement

This is my exchange, this is my substitute, this is my atonement

This is my exchange, this is my substitute, this is my atonement