She says I don’t worry about the war.
I am safe in the hands of God,
who is wholly good and does only good.
I look at her moist, gleaming eyes
and marvel at the carapace
she has pulled around her heart
as a hard, invulnerable shell.
See her happy inside it,
from shiva call to shiva call
and then to her steamy kitchen
in the basement apartment
with its thick, reinforced walls
and the iron slab clamped over the window.
See her cooking for the soldiers.
See them standing in the doorway
in their sweat-drenched uniforms,
one leg propped up on the step, faces down,
almost inhaling her good food.
She smiles at them and they smile back
mid-chomp, then with a clatter set down bowls
and they’re off, rifles banging
against their lean, young bodies.
She watches them go,
turns to me, and sighs.
Life is good. The Lord be blessed.
Tomorrow I will make chili.
About the Poem
About the Author
Born in Brooklyn NY, moved to Israel in 1976 and to Galilee in 1983. I write poetry and prose in both English and Hebrew.