Anxious, fears flitting in and out, through my head and back again
feeling like I know what it is to stand for the verdict
to live the last few hours on Death Row
And it is only a job, a silly job, a source of income
but this feeling, the same as I had last year when I lost
part of what made the job interesting
but this feeling that I have that I am so often dead on correct about
an intuition that pierces me and sets me on edge
and so often comes true
Maybe I would give up this intelligence, this ability to foresee for a little peace of mind
But no, there can never be too much you know, too much you can see
the water can never be too clear, the view never too deep

Bright white plates are placed at the bottom of Lake Tahoe
to measure the clarity of the water
which is now murkier than in Mark Twain's day
so the plates must be put closer to the surface
and I don't want that
to lose that purity of sensitivity
I only want to be able to know and not fear
So keep the plates where they are
the water remains pure and it has to

You are going to fire me I am nearly sure
I don't deserve it, but I didn't deserve to lose what I lost last year
when I had the same feeling

1979, A live broadcast, my father bid me come
to our new color TV set, the high pitched whine
it gave off muted by meaning
"remember this moment" he said
and we watched, in awed silence as
two men, Anwar Sadat and Menachem Begin shook hands
and our President presided
a cold peace at last
In retaliation for... Sadat was later shot through
the skull and died on a stage in a pool of warm blood
surrounded by his brethren

A letter dated 1944
My father's fingers trembled with it in his hands
He brought it out to show me
"I am the only survivor...all the rest are gone...
I am going to Israel"
Written hastily with pen and ink, our last
surviving relative who we know not of
bid farewell to Russia and was on track to a new land from the wellspring
of grief and ******

A Jew, my father
A half Jew am I and would have been all the same
to the **** killing machine I thought one languishing summer day
as I ate unripe apples with small wormholes at a farm
full of horses
Safe in the quiet, if uncaring peace of a world far away
from dead Nazis and the abandoned killing centers


Rabin Square in Tel Aviv, 2003
We walked through at night, my husband and I
A large empty space in a city without largeness or emptiness
We walk without recognition
as it is now just a place and not only a shrine
But I linger to look at one corner
At an embedded sculpture of confused cement blocks
jagged angles and useless plains, rendered in immobile lasting cement
a testament to futility
It is pain, frustration and the sickness of human violence--
Itzak Rabin
who was shot and bled to death
in a crowd in the dust of his also unknown and forgotten ancestors
in retaliation for the hope of peace

News of more bombs today
Fresh death
Mangled human potential rendered useless
In retaliation for...

Three kitties
tabby and white, tri-color siblings from under a school portable
and their adopted father, hunched backed, grey and white, bowl legged:
circa 2000, the best from the Israeli streets
groom each other one tongue on each sleek fur covered skin
the rhythm of certain satisfaction rises
and it is the vibration of love

Why did he?
What did I do?
When did he start to change?
Why is this happening?
It's not the right question
There are things, people, not in our control
We are only ourselves, our fragile human form
When our thoughts are spurting forth, frothing over the mountain top
like a mountain river in spring
and invade every corner of our mind, filling it like a bubbling tide trapped in rocks,
then let the tide pull back into the Bay to reveal
what we know, what lies beneath, like tender sea anenomes,  in our certain hearts

And extreme desire
and he was calling my name
and it was so good
And I opened my eyes
and withstood
the fact that again I'm alone
and it's good
it's just fine
this private pleasure shrine

I feel quite content
This single life doesn't seem like cement
locking me in
what bothers me comes from the outside
It's economic and I'd surmise
If that were to end
I don't know if I'd love again
I see men passing
The flirt, the passion
you can catch it online
Will there ever be a time? To love again...

To watch the brute force
that takes the place of reason and communication
Wars have titles, but they are the worst things on Earth
How is it that violence comes to us over and over
like an alcoholic, thinks, this one last drink
then, I will never have another
This will be the war to end all war
some really thought it

I have lived in the Holy Land
I have felt the sun of history on my face
The sands that so many have sought out have been in my path
And with all that wisdom collected
through the human ages--isn't it there
in a place of such value?

I remember, an Israeli soldier or two
killed, bodies dragged around
brutal ugly deaths celebrated by the mob
and out of the sky came a power that
destroyed the building where the murders took place

And people celebrated, as if this
would end the bloodshed
This power, this explosion would
bring peace

Thousands of bombs later, gallons of blood spilled
even some I saw with my own eyes
body meat on the street and we still
don't know that the most powerful force
we have is our brains and the ability to communicate
and come to the table to talk and fight the battle as a debate
and search for answers in our voices
and why do we give up this power over and over
and return to brutality that is just a mobius strip to more?
If we are really so brave, why can't we come to the table
two opposing forces, and wage a battle of words
to work these things out
Why is this never the priority?