Somewhere There’s a Stadium
personal poetic essay
“After you die, I’m never going to another Yom Kippur service,” I tell my Ima from the backseat of my parent’s 1979 Dodge Dart.
We’re in the middle of another heat wave and the air conditioning broke again. It’s probably not the High Holiday’s fault, the heat in the valley, but still, I rather be incognito at a dive bar. I rather be Frosted Flakes in…