Sewing Machine
When my brother
was killed
All the wires
were unraveled on
President Street
in Ashkelon
Dad wanted to
reconcile Mom
And bought her a
sewing machine
New camp on
Ha'aliya Street
in Tel Aviv
Mom and I drove
Once a week to
teach
Reconnected the
wires in return
Dad was willing
That mom found
some interest in life
And bought for
her
Threads in all
colors
We've been
through it all
To give
It did not help
Dad
Mother did not
sew on the new machine
The wires were
untied
If could have
stitched my brother's wounds
In a simple
sewing thread
That the blood
will not flow
That there will
be no bereavement
The Kitchen
For many years my father has been missing my
mother's food.
She was the chief of the Shabbat table
Laying on the white map the influence of the
greenery of the land
Lays down the basket, lays down the meat
Place the tomatoes and garlic
She knew how to cook.
This is how the taste of the food came from it
to us
And so she would bind us like cookies
Yo-Tunisians
Sweet cookies dipped in liquid sugar
Who would have added my grandmother if they
had allowed her
But here in the israel my mother used to make
the salads very thin
In order to capture us at the Sabbath table.
I did not learn a foreign language
from my parents
My parents spoke to each other in a different
language
My father asked for sweets in Polish
My mother is a mature Tunisian
And I did not learn from them a foreign
language
I only sucked Hebrew from a mother who was not
her mother tongue
She spoke to her sisters in French
In Arabic
And in that distant Jewish dialect.
In the kitchen I did not learn a foreign
language
Hebrew only
Orphanhood
When Mom died
It was a rainy
February
Hysterical
crying for a whole year
When Dad's died
The month of May
and Spring
He returned
Through the
bedroom window
Pray with us
And put on
tefillin
Like a religious man
And as butterfly
On the days of
the seven days
And now they are
properly rested
SHOSHANA VEGH
No comments :
Post a Comment