| MINDY ABER BARAD Mindy moved to Israel in 1977, has a BA from Washington University (St. Louis), and an LLB from Hebrew University. She practiced law, but writing is her first career choice. In 1997 she won second prize in the Jewish Librarians' Choice competition, for a children's story. Her poetry, stories, book reviews and essays have been published in Wild Plum, Current Accounts, the Jerusalem Post, the Jewish Press and other publications both on and off line. Most recently Mindy has become the Israeli co-editor of The Deronda Review. CAROB TREE
canopy of brittle brown fingers under the carob tree
shaded path children play spelling games with fallen fingers build road maps crazed borders along the sidewalk
a distant rumble, keen lament of ambulance once again carob seeds scattered wide
it is time to come in now, children the time for picking carob fingers playing games and road maps is over.
*
MY PATH
And then there is light For my path Called: Integrity I pray it is mine
My walking stick has faith Written on it It keeps me steady Though the path is narrow My stick is strong And I feel I can lean On the light as well A whisper Comes from The far end Of the path Perhaps a song Then Shouting off to the side Distracts me Though only momentarily Steady, My stick says, Come, Choose life My path speaks to me Song of salvation Words in the distance Is there is no way To determine Its length?
*
BONFIRE
weeks before, they gather sticks scavenging children prowl for anything flammable
just don't burn books, I warn, we don't do that
books kept us alive no land - no leader - no icons - only books
gather children 'round leaping flames faces shine and flicker
fire transforms dance into prayer song into meditation 613 flames leap up to Heaven as one!
our bonfires differ our dances not the same our children understand that we don't burn books
*
DEEP PLACES
at the edges of deep places souls cry out to be freed fear steps back hesitates but courage pushes through reaches down only to find nothing despondence shrinks back from the edges of deep places
souls murmur and chant echoes slice through fear, courage, despondence only a small opening a crack a slit through which hope most daring saves the souls.
*
BILAAM
A Pantoum These three times He has pointed his ugly finger Go, curse the Children of Israel But I refused He pointed his ugly finger Why havent you listened to me? But I refused The voice of G-d came to me
Why havent you listened to me? My faithful four-legged beast Then the voice of G-d came to me And I smiled upon them from the summit
How goodly are your tents, oh Jacob These three times I blessed them and did not Curse the Children of Israel.
*
EVERY STONE HAS A POEM
Every stone has a poem There in the middle Where the now-famous soldier Scarred from war Leaned his forehead His soul Dusty dirty And cried the tears Of his great grandparents And others Greater than them Who watched him Win the battle From on high
To the right A large unruffled stone Where the sage leaned When he blew the shofar The first in years The stone heaved A tiny sigh
To the left A stone drenched in loneliness Caressed in repentance By others Triumphant In a different battle
Every stone has a poem
*
WHEN I AM SIX AND A HALF
I first hear about the Holocaust when I am six and a half at camp.
In not so many words my childhood comes to an end - in a story I hear about other children whose parents are no longer there when they come home from school.
Children, like me no longer children, search for their parents up and down the rows, endless rows of identical hospital beds with identical blankets - parents are hard to find with their heads shaved.
Away from home, At summer camp I think this nightmare of lost parents is no story at all.
*
TSUNAMI
agitated angry waters swallow families whole and leave a hole where a village once stood
trees and houses bow down before the wildness of the waves cower and kneel as slaves
the playground of Europe lies in ruins bullied by a much larger force
*
SONG OF DEBORAH
I am a mother just like the rest except that I have seen more than they And I have heard more, Ridden a chariot into battle - been victorious. I have been crowned the Princess Poet. A torch lights my way Praise G-d!
Yet there are women stronger than I. One who killed with the hushed swiftness of a deer. One who crushed evil with a millstone. There are many women in harlequin costumes with dark painted eyes. They embrace fragrant oils for many long hours in preparation for the prophecy they have all nurtured. Their silence digs deep into the soil of prayer.
Praise G-d for the women whose names are their most precious secrets. They have taught their children how to sing, and dedicated their lives at the Throne of The King. Women have fed meat and flat bread to the angels, and run with bare feet to the harvest along the borders of the Land. Whether slaves or concubines or queens They have danced in the vineyards and given their lives to defeat the enemy. Praise G-d! Israel does not need a king, when women always look to The King of Kings.
*
AFTER THE WEDDING
champagne and stale glasses huge bearded broom soothes the floor picks up confetti sore feet massage sequined gown with matching hat scattered benches fast asleep a forlorn silk tie loathe to leave its chair sounds of dancing and joy have packed away the musicians as one last wire snakes around the tinsel table cloths folded into wig boxes piles of cartons in festive gift wrap totter over shards of crystal mazal tov echoes from the door
*
CLOSEST TO MY FACE
Closest to my face Is air Next to that Death Not Nimes or Reimes Not Makong or Pnom Pen Very close Miles away Next door Right here Burned black cylinder Centerpiece of war Decorates nervous souls Who Go-about-their-business Shake off shrapnel Dandruff of death
* INTERNATIONAL JEWISH WRITERS International Jewish writers At a conference While I am busy sweeping floors - Mine is no disgrace Ancient words as modern ones Full force upon me Rag in one hand, pen in other - But not in attendance I have missed them reading their words Aloud to one another And rubbing shoulders; I have no time To congratulate famous names and wish unknown faces a happy holiday. * NOW, LIKE THEN Now, like then, the buildings stand Once full, erupting with life With hope Now empty Art once sprung from the windows Music flowed through the doors Now only ghosts Hazy images, so vague That crazy people deny their existence We know they existed The buildings The art The music All testify Our children, Bear their names Brush their strokes Hum their notes Images rest in peace In new buildings In our place Where we will never let it happen again. * FOR KURT, RAY AND DOUGLAS I was raised on another planet Forever thumbing my way Along the cyber-bahn Watching Earth wax and wane Getting nowhere Its civilizations Like it tides Monthlies Yearlies Inventions and ideas ride along As my thumb goes numb Waiting Waving goodbye As each species becomes extinct All in a day My youth no longer extant A relic of my mind Preserved on silicone And other inter-galactic substances |