Passover is a holiday with thousands and thousands of Haggadah possibilities. People have written them in many languages. There are actually Haggadah museums. Matthew Septimus and I celebrate, each year, with a poem, and a picture — this being the second in a series of eight.

Why oh why
is this evening
so long, so similar
often uninspired
Why does the word liberation
sound too much like
Liver Nation
not enough like freedom?

Why can’t we
in the spirit of what
it might mean
to truly celebrate
overcoming our tribal
predispositions
not tell stories
to make us bigger?

Not relive the usual
what he did to me
but imagine instead
what we might do if we were
all open, for even one night
to forgiveness
and to love.