 |
| Sarah Ito |
MIDNIGHT IN NECROPOLIS
Head swathed in lavender wraps,
Traversing the Old City
From the Mount of Olives
Her oily eyes sweep
The cobblestones below…
Well-worn and tired paths
Of antiquity and tears and bloodshed…
Undeterred by scarred history and thorny terrain
The Hijabi continues to chart her course
Down the slope to the Old City.
In the marketplace of the Old City
The Sabra awaits…
As dusk falls lightly as a newborn’s blanket
A delicate and deceptive shroud that masks
All risk and protects no soul.
Still, she waits, this Sabra,
Born to this land and to its pain,
For the Hijabi woman in lavender wraps
Who looks at her with oily eyes
And peaceful being
In Jerusalem
At dusk
