Old locked wood door

The Sephardic Synagogue On Dennison Street

The locked door tells me what I need to know:
Where once was community, the members
Like snow

have drifted away, forgotten.

No need to open if not time for prayers.
Then, one by one, old timers still around
Will shuffle down

the sad ice-coated street

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Holding cane or walker or their friend’s love
Fighting freeze of darkness and wondering
If there will be enough

at least ten men

To say a proper thank you to our God.
If less, we mute our most important thoughts.