I had dream, a memorial fancy:

I dined with Judah Maccabee and Ho Chi Minh.

The table was set for the Passover.

My Uncle Ho sipped his wine and leaned across the table.

“The people are a river,” he said,

“For 3,000 years we have been fighting for liberation.

If need be, we will fight for 3,000 more.”

Judah leaned back in his chair.

“Why do we taste the bitter herb?” he asked.

“Because one grows accustomed to bloodshed,

If the blood is not one’s own,” I answered.

So we passed the night:

Eating, sipping wine, and talking politics.

When it was time to leave, Judah put his arm around me

“My only regret,” he said,

Is that Moses couldn’t be here.”

My Uncle Ho just winked.

1973