I
A wall,
for wailing (the who
and for what
unimportant).
Or
maybe
just a place to gather
(in prayer).
II
Once a temple
stood
proud above the rooftops
and people came
to make an
offering.
Before the exile.
III
It’s been reported
how harps
were hung by the river
and grown men
wept when
asked to sing a song.
of Jerusalem.
By their captors
no less.
IV
Stone by stone,
dismantled —
razed
into the dust
it struggled to surmount.
They tore
their clothes
in grief, wailing.
Maybe god had forsaken
them.
V
Years piled high like
stones.
A city divided
by a line drawn black,
black like a hat
bobbing lost in prayer
or the color
of a funeral
shroud.
Black like a polished
Kalashnikov
and cold like stone.
VI
He could be (is)
your brother.
Behind
the ski mask.
He has needs, too —
(for example
a place
to call his own).
You were once
like him
(remember the diaspora?)
How did the roles
become reversed?
VII
I won’t revisit your twisted
streets
and back alleys
choked too full with history —
(though some,
of course, still do).
Salem to shalom to salaam
but what has really
changed
since Abram passed
those city walls?
Walls erected to divide
(causing only more
division).
