Grandmothers
wear scarves in their hair
lifting prayer books to their faces
where bobbing eyes have left tears on open pages.
(Prayers are written and folded like gum wrappers as Tetris players approach the wall one by one. How can we fit all these small squares of paper prayers?)
Girls in matching black skirts and ponytails rock forward and back, forward and
but one girl in particular stands out.
Standing on a stool, her face is pressing tightly against the limestone wall the way
I'd like to press myself to sunlight today. She's bright. Her lips move slightly into a smile, never mind that the wall won't let her in.
the phenomenon of the western wall:
here, i'm proud to be a Jew
and I'm not Jewish.
here, i'm proud to be a Jew
and I'm not Jewish.
(a few months prior) Day 2:
Sunrise on the Dead Sea picks up the desert in its arms
and gilds her gently.
The sun is up and painting, fingers dragging mirth across his canvas.
(or
is he a blacksmith? his workshop begins to glow.)
Rising over groves of date palms, the sun
blinds
he is growing taller as we drive.
Once, I grew taller
and the sun was my constant.
Does he remember
little me with dusty palms and rubber shoes?
He will rise above me forever,
but
Today
we are just 42 people learning each other's laughs.
We're artists in a bus,
tracing the Dead Sea,
tracing groves of date palms,
tracing a beach day in our minds
pulling out a stencil for new friendships
again.
In the beginning (Day 1):
We miss their shining eyes.
These are more stars than i have ever seen and each one of
them left heart-craters.
them left heart-craters.
Candles down below become explosions of light pricks
Twisting cords of
fairy lights
Nebulae reaching for somewhere else
They're happy now.
You and I pause in
reflections of eternally
expanding
starlight.
(I'm waiting for an answer.)
who am i because of 10 minutes in a children's holocaust memorial?
--
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