Two Poems from the Galilee, by Rachel Tzvia Again

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A digitally altered photograph of light streaming through the branches of an olive tree
Picture by Yousef Khanfar / www.yousefkhanfar.com. This olive tree within the Al Aqsa compound is believed to be 2,000 years outdated

Within the Starting the Phrase

1

the phrase was
 unverbed unruled simply birthed
earlier than hen on the altar or binding
 at hilltop not taken or given in
swindling religion not proof of god whose
 token or legislation was spoken
to frighten the soul oh black gap
the place as soon as my coronary heart beat

At first the phrase was
 unlettered unfettered smooth
syllables uttered as wind in an intimate
 stroke throughout a desert slope hope
is the unfallen grandly silhouetted at

ridgetop gentle of the start
world resting within the evening valley undimmed
 by greed and lies —

At first what was solitary
 within the land escaped belongingly
nobody’s a phrase imagined as spoken to self
 from the deep breath or breathe
urgently urged to the new child who
 received’t cry her ear is just too smooth for this
babel she hears solely candy promised stream
by means of the dry wadi

However as if at first was we
 knew the top with final solar
setting so darkness may communicate its piece don’t
think about peace no starshine or moonrise
to impede simply a world stuffed to its brim with
despair particles by means of all town
streets demolished above tunnels beneath our bodies
 all over the place and the one phrase was —
depart

 

2

oh black gap
the place as soon as my heartbeatwas
hope
is the unfallen grandly silhouetted at

ridgetop
breath
orbreathecandy promised
stream by means of the dry wadihowever we
don’t think about peace
simply
despairparticlesdemolished
depart
oh black gap
the place
as soon as
was

at first

 

After

The good useless educate the residing to not hate.
—Brenda Hillman

The good useless returned.
The various useless.
The attractive boys, all
the gorgeous women.

The determined moms, the
surprised fathers, the nonetheless
wide-eyed infants, the candy
toddlers. The bodied

useless and people burnt to ash,
they too returned. The useless
we counted and the useless we couldn’t
rely, we stopped counting as

the numbers rose too excessive.
The useless whose deaths broke
our breath into ragged tears
and the useless whose deaths left us

unmoved. The useless whose names
we knew, whose names we
spoke in our sleep, in our terror
desires, and the useless whose names

we by no means knew and now can’t
care to know. The unburied
useless, rotting beneath the rubble, and
the useless buried in mass graves,

wrapped in plastic, in white sheets.
The useless borne by the weeping
crowd, carried on stretchers,
draped in defiant flags, positioned

in but yet one more disbelieving
grave. And the grandmothers
useless who had deliberate to die
of their beds, the outdated males useless,

those that had fled as soon as
or twice earlier than, then
planted bushes to be themselves
rooted, olive and almond they

faithfully tended, until that morning,
that day, that evening, that week, these
months they grew to become one of many useless,
the nice useless, the various

useless who now return,
demanding that we cease
talking of their names,
that we cease making

extra useless of their bleeding,
their aching and orphaned
names.

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