…the ring // is what has / been doing all // the work these / days—gravity, // hydroponics, bed / making, bills.

My mother is losing language now. What’s happening inside will stay there. Today she is lying on the couch staring nowhere. She is concentrating very hard on this.

I was trying to remind everyone at that bar that we were an extension of this modest tradition.

…This place breaks my heart one headline / by one, but I haven’t figured out somewhere better to love.

Pain no longer radiates toward us from distant events, but hits us directly, repeatedly, like the gusts of a local storm intensified by a prevailing wind.

Under the work clothes I grope for / my hunched shoulder blades: // that spot / where wings grow.

Lately, we are more and more worried that our house, our homeland, is disintegrating and might be in danger due to social divides and outside threats.

I hold my words captive in the tunnels to keep silent company to the abducted / . / We have need of them and they us never-ending / . / If I rip off my muzzle, spit out the gag, will that be enough to give them back their freedom?

Once a week / like for drama class / I come / to you. / Nothing happens, / Silence plays / all the roles.

I think we’ve all experienced the fact that, and this is not specific to Israel, but there’s a certain narrative that, when a publisher or an agent overseas is approached by an Israeli writer, there are certain narratives that are expected. If you don’t fit into one of those boxes, it’s very, very difficult to find an audience.

And maybe the good / prevails / in your foolish / heart as well.

My heart is beating, pounding hard. In the space between me and myself, I am left. My feminine soul revived.