Kaparos
This chicken is atonement with wings
trapped in the Rabbi’s fist
The hen shall meet death
but I will enjoy a long, pleasant life
This chicken is a squawking substitute
he swings over my head
until it swells with my sins
This is my vicarious offering
This chicken will be held accountable
so I can be forgiven
Zos chalifasi, zos tamurasi, zos kaparasi
“I once met a girl from Russia [who had been molested]
and I told her: so?
What, do you think you’re the only one who has been molested?
You think your mother and your grandmother
made it through their teenage years without being molested?
So what, they stopped life,
they wouldn’t raise a family?
Why are you so fragile?”
This chicken is a kapara: a cover-up
We bring it to the slaughterhouse
filled with soft stinking piles of poultry
The Rabbi severs its trachea quickly
with an incredibly sharp
perfectly smooth blade
He slides it across the esophagus and neck arteries
to ensure it does not suffer as it dies
This chicken symbolizes the urgency of repentance
or the importance of tradition
or the tradition of shifting transgressions
instead of taking responsibility for them
“You think nobody is allowed to touch you?
What are you, holy? So you were touched!
That’s it.
What’s the transgression?
Keep it in context.
It’s not a big transgression that’s been done against you.
Are you that damaged? You’re not that damaged, cut it out.”
Once the chicken is dead
it is released to bleed
and stain the ground with collected sins
It is customary to cover the blood with dirt
before the chicken is inspected
to ensure the internal organs are healthy
and not damaged
You’re not that damaged
Each year the practice is repeated
You think nobody is allowed to touch you?
Each year the chickens hang
and hold sins
This hen shall meet death
but I will enjoy a long, pleasant life
This chicken and I are atonements with wings
trapped in sweaty fists
and swollen with sins
This chicken has been whirled around heads
for generations
while women have been touched
for generations.
What’s the transgression?
This chicken and I have been hanging
from these hands
for generations
This chicken is my exchange
Holding the holy’s sins
This chicken is my substitute
forget my misgivings
staining the ground with tradition
that covers over the blood with dirt
until all is forgotten
Wading, 2014 by Kendra Yee
Copyright Credit: NOTE: This poem is part of “Pethetic Little Thing,” curated by Tavi Gevinson. Read the rest of the portfolio in Poetry’s July/August 2015 issue.
Source: Poetry (July/August 2015)