constricted streets choking with fruit juice stands,
grey apartment buildings like so many broken teeth,
laundry strung from balcony to balcony
to balcony, venders yelling
pomegranate juice, fresh-squeezed pomegranate juice
fresh orange juice, falafel! falafel and schwarma!
humus! the best in the country! yes, please
how can I help you? only ten shekels! ten shekels!
the Western Wall dressed in a layer of moonlight,
a group of yeshiva boys straggling up
toward their quarter, singing in the purple night
(one of them will be killed by terrorist bullets next week)
(this country is an asthmatic child suffering
constant unpredictable attacks)
the women’s section close, quiet
a man walking the sloping stones,
toting a sweeping kit
many crumpled notes have fallen from their cracks
into the jaws of his broom and dustpan
leafy cemeteries, cool dry dirt, cloudy skies, late winter
two woman visiting a certain grave in the second row
placing pebbles, reciting prayers from a tattered book
a funeral procession nearby
choked crying, muffled sobs that grow progressively louder
wilder more desperate gutteral animal groans
piercing the quiet air, the two women look on calmly
they have been here, they have sobbed
soldiers 18, 19 years old traveling the sidewalks,
their chins smooth, hair cropped so close
their scalps are visible between the dark strands,
the M-16s draped over their shoulders softly
hitting their thighs every time they take a step,
like a child begging his father for attention:
abba, abba
father, father!
-Mariel Boyarsky
The bird belongs to two lands.
She tells herself this as seasons begin
to change, and she prepares for the flight
south. I will be back, she says,
when the flowers are again in bloom.
She tells herself this as seasons begin
to change, and she prepares for the flight
south. I will be back, she says,
when the flowers are again in bloom.
Poughkeepsie, New York
Haifa, Israel
Haifa, Israel
I’ve migrated from Vassar College.
Students mill about the quadrangle…
One girl sprawls on the grass
beneath an oak, and
bites into a red apple.
The sun is perfectly angled
so that the stained-glass library
windows pulse with color.
I flew east from a land I love,
and landed in love
with this desert.
My days are swollen with playing shesh-besh
by the pool, smoking nargilah,
and tracking the path of the sun.
Last Sunday, we took the 46
down to the beach and there it was
suddenly before us
as the bus swung away from clustered buildings
the sea so wide
the e x p a n s e of sky so great
it brought to mind God
who spreads two arms
a great, far distance
and envelops the entire world.
But no matter how wide I spread my own arms,
I am still on one continent
when I want to be on two.
-Mariel Boyarsky
