This one is about the decapitation of a young girl:
I Am the Severed Head You Do Not Know
My hair is more blond than the sand it rolls over On my lips crowd words sharp as the knife that met my throat. You who are mesmerized by my eyes, put a chip on the wheel of fortune that spins under the eyebrows. Don’t ask my name and imagine my hands hugging the body that was so beautiful beneath my neck and now cast upon the disgrace of the earth as if it was no more than a banana peel.
The sun shone, the poet wrote, and I am barely a model of darkness. No more.
and this is about the clothing Yashar leHayal is collecting and distributing to the local refugees.
In the Clothing Donation Depot for Survivors. Expo, Tel Aviv
I sort bras and learn the difference between the lacy padded one and one that is soft-lined underwired cotton. War is a time of shame and I’m not Charles Bukowski, who surely would have tried to identify from whom it was removed and on whom it will be put on. I just stuff a pile into a used carton of chocolate bars and then pass on to the next pile.
(Translated by Karen Alkalay-Gut)
and one by me:
Regenerating
No sex in wartime, I always say. Even a touch of foreplay brings on the rockets that give it to us all at once.
Afterward, everyone who can makes babies and give them names in memory of
Ezi thinks that they set the timers for the rockets in our neighborhood on the hour. I think that if it true that the rockets in our neighborhood fall on the hour it is just because they’re in a rush to set the timers and run away.
The frequent use of human shields is another sign to me that Hamas is trying to be very careful – of their own lives. I am watching the filming from Jabalia on BBC – In Israel we can only see the catastrophe from above. But what we see is an underground tunnel exploded and we can’t see the individuals from so far away. These are the people who were warned again and again to leave the area and go to the south, but, the BBC says, some left and returned because conditions there were so bad. Some had told foreign press that they had not been allowed to leave by Hamas. When they did have choices, they were not good ones.
I too feel I am at the front, but I feel I am being protected in every way possible. The sirens, the shelters, the iron dome, the phone calls – all make me aware that there are major efforts made to protect me. The people on the street at Jabalia make it clear to me that they are shields. I pray for them – may Allah have mercy.