V. Love's Perils

THE INTERVAL BETWEEN BREATH AND BREATH

The interval between breath and breath
makes all the difference

Deep breathing exercises
fill the stomach breathe out slowly
till the punch in the stomach

I tell you
that the interval between breath and breath
makes all the difference
and you retort that you don't want to get married

You know, because you saw
your mother scream in pain
after your father slapped her in the face.
The scars are still visible on your perfectly
beautiful face and only I
see you between the intervals.
                                               — Iris Bashiri
                                                    translation from the Hebrew: EC

*

AN ARBITRARY POINT

When your voice has almost died and there is no water in you and the air has become really dry
when almost all the signs say it can no longer happen
put your index finger on an arbitrary point on the map
and you will see a wind wake up around it
kick up a bit of sand into the eyes

when almost all the signs say it can no longer happen
and the heart begins to forget what you called ”homeward”
you'll see the wind kicking up a bit of sand into the eyes
and under that screen something stirs and aerates itself

the heart begins to forget what you called ”homeward”
and you are still mourning (just sometimes) for what was lost
and under that screen something stirs and aerates itself —
perhaps it will be silence, perhaps a renewed will.

And you are still mourning (just sometimes) for what was lost
put your index finger on a point on the map
perhaps in silence, perhaps with renewed will
Now, quick, when your voice has almost died and there is no water in you and the air has become really dry
                    — Tirtsa Posklinsky-Shehori
                         translation from the Hebrew: EC

*

Acceptance Cries Out for More

disappointment carries a torch
it longs for acceptance from the gods that be

we went our separate ways
you and I
shattering promises as we left

pieces of a time once spent
upon the garden wall
listening to the serenade of birds

the warmth of summer on our faces
now fades with the setting sun

once again our lives collide
with impressions of what could have been

yet we accept what it has become
                                                  — Christine Tabaka

*

RACHEL
 
If I had known when we chose to obey
you one last time, Daddy, that my sad years
as childless aunt and wife, day after day
raising others’ sons, shedding nightly tears,
 
my shared husband – more than thirty years’ strife –
I could avoid it all: just marry him
and save my sister later… How my life
might have glowed and only slowly grown dim.
 
And then, these last seven years, with my son:
I watched his father dote on him and smile,
tell me his own childhood, a different one
in which his mother got her way with guile.
 
Whichever way our wedding story’s told,
you threw her in, but it was me you sold.
                                                             — David Shaffer

*

Love’s Peril

How can I ever forget
my earliest teacher…
a caged canary
when we were both young?

At home in a sunny nursery alcove
just within reach of tiny hands
it sent its song into my small heart
— daily
but especially mornings;
feathery yellowness
beamed out between the bars
surely wishing to be free.

I gazed at her golden glow
heard a melodious plea
asking for liberation
imploring my help.

Reaching for canary
her pulsing soft warmth
now in my palm
I tightened my fingers around her
in paroxysm of love

then followed with streaming eyes
her tiny weight to the floor
as motionless she lay—
a tormenting testament to my love.

Her song has sounded for years:
love with a light hand
and hold not too close.

                                   — Vera Haldy-Regier