JERUSALEM 1948.

A WOMAN AND HER CHILD EMBRACE THE CITY'S HISTORY.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

You are brushing the
Dust from the soles of
Your feet; the people

 

Of the City have failed
You once more. The streets
Whisper history;

 

You hear its echo
In the foot’s dull sound.
Your child holds your hand,

 

The touch of skin on
Skin, the City is
Worming its stark soul

 

Into their hearts and
Minds. You know nothing
Of the intricate

 

Delicacies of
Man’s faith; you are the
Mother, carrier

 

Of seeds, the ark of
Life, a failed woman,
A man of God’s wife.

 

You are sensing the
Fear of the City’s
Feel. The history

 

Of centuries smells
In the stones, the dust,
The sun’s touch. You are

 

Walking the way of
The condemned; your child’s
Hand grips yours tightly,

 

The footsteps move on
Slowly and lightly.

Reviews

[just rose.]

Beautiful. The exploration of role and tradition, rooted firmly in the space one takes up in the world -- or does not.