Poems from Dreamweavers


(Mitzvah with Grace)


We will not forget the evil eye

of the storm they raised,

gutting the grounds we defended.

We have been trained

to look away too often

when man’s flesh, muscle, bone

knifed woman;tto protect

the child’s eye from the dust

of the lord’s sin against

our kind, pretending

our tears are daughters of the wind

blowing across no-woman’s land.


We have had to seek the center

of the storm in the land we claim

is ours, too. Faces keening towards

the full force of winds

once blinding us, we see

the blur of broken earth,

blasted wastes, damned seas.


Our vision clears in our weeping.


We have joined the trek

of desert women, humped over

from carrying our own oases

in the claypots of our lives,

gathering broken shards we find

in memory of those who went

ahead of us, alone.


When we seize the watersource

our ranks will complete the circle

we used to mark around our tents,

making homes, villages, temples,

schools, our healing places.

And we will bear witness for

our daughters and sons,

telling them true stories

of the caravan.