After Eirin Moure
Finally! a thunderstorm this afternoon
The sky careening down to the high far apartment buildings on HaMeshachrerim
as if to topple them over
As if Iron Dome
Let a few through
And the rockets fell in a torrent
The thunder of belated sirens screaming as they fell,
The rain rained down from the close sky,
Burst dark on the cracked dirt alleys between our train building
and the next. . .
When lightning shook the air
And startled the street cats’ searching
Like being awoken in the night by one’s beloved booming WAKE UP, RUN,
Who knows why – perhaps because the sky was close –
I invoked, in words, my friend Grace
As if I could reach her, just like that. . .
And, speaking to Grace,
I felt myself a falser friend
than I’d ever dreamed of
Felt myself coddled lifebound on Yoel HaShofet
Having spent my year
Full of unrelated turmoils,
Having wishes, and doubts about wishes,
Like she once had therapy and lowercase text messages. . .
There are some things that refuse to be felt all at once.
Oh, to be able to tell her about the skies that remain in this world.
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