glossy spill on the science lab countertop
sticks somewhere under the siddur
the davening proctor and I share
last in my class to sit for this test
the storm window
between my lack of Hebrew skills
and my grade-appropriate davening group
I read the davening aloud for her
press my right leg into the thick cherry hardwood
corner to ground my pretending
hope the sounds I make are close
to prayer
twenty years later in shul
singing a less-than-usual kabbalat shabbat tune I miss
some chet or nun at the end of a word and the note shifts
leaving my voice alone in the air
my cheeks flame and boil and my ears block sound
thud-thudding now like then in my davening test
side by side in an empty lab with no voices to cover my false flow
but the next morning the proctor sent me to join my friends
not because I could read
Hebrew and I know I’m not that good
a liar in another language
but as the last in my class
it was time
