ATLANTIS

All the sights of the world could be seen in my neighborhood:
Lily’s cinema-stables and Yoram’s candy dungeon,
bald palm trees and the scent of oranges and jasmine.
A trickster flashed his dollars amid 1960s poverty
at a bittersweet chocolate bar mitzvah in the run-down hall of a liberal political party.
In the absence of guests, poor neighbors gathered at paper tables.
On Be’er Sheva Street, the heat stood still, children played, heavy women on balconies clicked their tongues and we knew that Ramat Yitzhak was the entire world.
In the east, the legendary Pardes school leaned toward the dunes.
Mysterious teachers piled burdens on us.
In the morning, Bilha the teacher revealed herself in all her holiness:
“The mountains of Ephraim have collected a fresh young victim.
Hush, dear friend, and rest in peace.
Like you we shall sacrifice our lives for the nation.” And the colossal corpse
lay on Mount Ephraim in the cold and rain, north of Mount Leviathan, an extinct volcano.
To the west, the Modi’in River, and on its far bank,
the land of Givatayim.
The cobbler, strong-armed Yosef, devotes himself to the neighbors’ shoes.
To the south, on Ridge Street, an orphan girl emerged
to lose her mind on the porch
under the one-eyed moon in Ramat Yitzhak.  
From kitchen gardens, we watched winter arrive when the light rose, and it was cold inside.
We hid ourselves from the heavy rain under the seven blankets of the world in our rooms.
Yosef the greengrocer, amid arak fumes, bore the burden of his crates like Atlas.
In Bar Ilan Park, the swings creaked, and the scent of lead trees wafted.
From the balcony we watched Chayek’s sons
memorize the Bible at their mother’s urging.
Esther Yehezkel from Dr. Cohen Street was Queen Esther.
Yael Sharon from 101^st Street was the Lily of the Valley.
We married, among cats, fish, newspapers.
Avishai Braverman went off to the world’s riches.
Orly Steinhart became a beauty queen.
The world began in plots of sand, then we soared up to Jerusalem.
Everyone fled to run their lives, and there was no more Ramat Yitzhak in the world, never was,
between the skies of Modi’in Street and Ha-ro-ay Avenue
hidden between the land of Givatayim and Ramat Gan among mountains and valleys
in the sandy landscape of an unsown land.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

אטלנטיס

אטלנטיס