Mourner's Prayer
Words By: Harvey Katz/ Athens Boys CHoir

Across the bridge there are a million lights,
A night-rider I’m driving with NYC on my right.

Steering wheel in my hand,
Journal tight on my thigh,
And at 70 MPH, highway lines hypnotize and meditative thoughts materialize.

Where I’m chugging across interstates,
Berated by inquisitive nouns,
Looking cock-eyed at inquisitive towns that wonder what this countrified city boy hides.

And this time it’s Raleigh to DC, New York and Philly.
A pullout couch on Monday a loveseat on Tuesday

And on days this gray
I fold into myself like clovers after dusk
And on days this cold
I wonder what the road holds that could beat a concept of home and I say the mourners prayer almost without thinking:

{Hebrew}
Yis'ga'dal v'yis'kadash sh'may ra'bbo

Yes, I do believe in G-d
And No, this isn’t Columbine,
I’m not answering this with my life on the line

But when the student asked me this question “Do you believe in G-d?” after an hour long trans 101 lesson,
She was looking for a lifeline.
Because her whole lifetime she believed in water into wine,
Dying for your sins,
And walking on liquid,
And here I was, taking Adam’s rib and turning it into something she had to question.

{Hebrew}
Yis'ga'dal v'yis'kadash sh'may ra'bbo

Yehudus bat Leah
The loss of a daughter with the
Gaining of a son
And, um, “like wouldn’t it be easier if you just picked one?”

For you? Yes. Probably.
For me? Well it’s all speculatory,
For my Family? Yes.

See yesterday I cut off the last parts of me recognizable in my Mother’s Silhouette.
A pound in a half in tomorrow yesterday’s trash and I’m a little bit regret and a little bit happiness.

Witness Self-hate.
Witness mutation.
Witness my father’s even breaths breaking into hysteria and negotiations. Witness awakening.

See I went to sleep proud and woke up feeling like a sell-out. Like I’m putting out for the binary.
Like I’m fucking the system that wouldn’t put up with me.
Like now I’m part of this silent hierarchy we’ve set up for those who have transitioned medically.

When really, that’s not how I feel at all. So I’m calling on my community to commute. To move past passing judgment.

Because it was 26 years before I saw anything beautiful in me.
26 years. Each with 365 days between.
Nearly 10,000 dawns and dysphoria.

Of waking under waterfalls, waiting to be washed clean or carried off.
And we are 80% water,
Fluidity seems only natural,
To change state; a birthright.

Isn’t that what we’re taught?
That energy is neither gained nor lost
From Lava to Mountain,
From fire to rock.

{Hebrew}
Yis'ga'dal v'yis'kadash sh'may ra'bbo

See there are places in the highway where the exits grow so far apart that what is conceptually just a little ways to go becomes fifty miles of road between you and your goal.

{Hebrew}
Yis'ga'dal v'yis'kadash sh'may ra'bbo

It is a conversational prayer
The service leader says one thing and the congregation answers.

[Hebrew}
v'yispoar v'yisromam v'yismasay

It s a dialogue of repair.
Of patchwork in asphalt,
Of road kill and tar-snakes and making piece.

Across the bridge there are a million lights.
A night-rider I’m driving hoping instinct leads me to insight.