LITTLE SCHEHERAZADE
The sun breaks
from within the salt
and a boy tells us
of a Beduin hafla
in a secret encampment.
And I did not see
but a little Scheherazade
scatters her stories
and makes magic a moment
from the desert of this land to you
COMMON LANGUAGE
We have a common language
like for instance
I could have been your father,
as a home for me and you.
My unconscious comes by your unconscious,
even words
are floodgates no more.
Our tongues are at ease.
Say ah and I’ll follow you,
say a-ha and I’ll follow too.
We’re winding in sheets wrapped
like two weary wrestlers.
Even words
are floodgates no more.
I should be looking at you.
I should be coming to you too.
We have a common language.
A GREAT SHAME
Power I have
Body I have
But I have a great shame.
And you have methods
And much of me in you
A swift finality
And slick answers
So much rubbish in my head
So much energy in my pelvis
Erect you flood me
And it all signifies
Piercing subjugation
And all the rest
Is great shame
MY GRANDMOTHER’S GERANIUM SCARF
As a child I wondered what my grand-mother’s hair color was,
If a mane of curls she had / or straight,
if golden was her hair, or black /
or has gray sprinkled throughout.
All her days and nights she did not remove the covering from above her head –
captured in a faded handkerchief, embroidered with geranium flowers,
like her soul as her Torah imposes upon her.
At noon, my grand-mother lay down to rest as she used to,
I slowly crept into her room and slightly diverted
The forbidden cover from her head.
To my astonishment, her hair was revealed to be flaming red,
burning in the handkerchief brackets. I remember the touch of her hair
thick, rough, bright and abundant. And all this beauty
imprisoned my grand-mother inside the geranium handkerchief.
Frightened awake, clutching my fingertips,
keeping me away from her. My child, when you’ll grow up
You will cover your head too, she says.
My grand-mother’s prophecy did not come true.
I let my hair grow, visible, wild and cheeky
Blowing in the wind.