NESHER HILL

Two cyclamen but no rock*
facing the quarry and the evergreen mountain**
(my father dying in the bedroom of my childhood)
what a long way
toward the hurt of a painful tetanus shot
slicing my bare arm my knees bruised again and again
on the way to the kindergarten near the abandoned shelter
on the square, a sled made of orphaned cardboard, two cyclamen
sun-scorched in memory pink as a tattoo
from the candy at the improvised cinema
before Bruce Lee’s Fist of Fury
                          and Kirk Douglas’s The Bad and the Beautiful
eyes open and shut in immense darkness.

גבעת נשר

גבעת נשר