Manna dropped softly on the harsh desert sands,
our daily portion of bread from heaven,
yes, we said, this would suffice!
but the generations of the leech cried out: Give, give,
ever sucking, never sated, always hungry.
We wanted more.

Next came the quails, those erring migrants,
nightfall’s stragglers entangled in our nets,
and yes we said, this could suffice!
and still the generations of the leech cried out: Give, give,
ever sucking, never sated, always hungry.
We wanted more.

A crimson cloud unfurled in the east,
dawn’s herald of life restored.
Enough.

[“This would suffice” is from a Passover song of thanksgiving. The image of insatiable leeches is drawn from Proverbs 30:15.]

 Copyright © 2013, Jonathan Omer-Man