Somehow, for one more Seder, I was able

To crowd in everyone around the table:

Our yearly miracle. Now I stand

Holding the box of matches in my hand,

About to light the candles. But, no, wait.

Something is not right, and I hesitate

To strike a flame and to pronounce the blessing.

Something is wrong. There must be something missing.

What is it I subconsciously detect?

I run my mind over the list I've checked

a hundred times or more since I got up:

Matzoh, the Seder plate, Elijah's cup,

Salt water, wine, eggs, greens, gefilte fish,

Haggadahs, scallions, liver and a dish

of horseradish, charoseth, juice for children . . .

Children. My glance shifts to them. It is then

I understand what's missing. It's the streaks

Of bright red lipstick on the children's cheeks.