I thought I saw my sister
outside the window,
carrying Tel Aviv in her mouth.
Making a bracha with her teeth,
grinding poems and hair,
her jaw opened up and showed the world
boiling behind her molars.
My Vishnu sister, made of words, needing none.
Little and towheaded I’used to pick hair after hair from
my scalp to see what I thought
was a piece of brain at the end.
Sitting in the backyard,
eating fistfuls of grass, ripping bundles of yellow
What you feel is
irrelevant, but
What you taste is
holy
shabbos kodesh
salty mouth dirt
sister mother
yellow tufts of mind