Crow Friday Poem: Kosher Pickle

Image attribution:ChildofMidnight

It felt good to be in a Jewish deli.

I haven’t been to one since

I left my tribe

and headed to L.A.

A man behind the glass case

wearing a Dodger’s cap

took my number.

I selected prune hamantash

and babka,

a container of coleslaw,

several matzo balls

that I planned to drop

into my chicken soup.

Make it a pound of pastrami,


Let me have a large rye


and another container

of chopped liver.

I imagined building

the tallest, thickest sandwich

oozing with dark mustard

and a Kosher pickle

on the side.

When I said Kosher,

I realized I had become Jewish


My identity had returned

at Canter’s Deli

inside a pastrami sandwich.