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On Memorial Day |
On Memorial day I run off from the groves.
I'm upset again, as every year.
Through the picnic smoke I watch while
The lamenting land, mournful, slumps its shoulders.
And when the ghosts are all assembled before me,
From the rocks, from the caves, from the earth,
I give a command: you are all free to memories.
I turn my face away, then whisper to us living:
That's it, Gentlemen, they are trapped.
They can't escape. They left behind
Their last will and testament, here in our hands.
(translated from Hebrew by the author and Ward Kelley)
copyright 2006
Elisha
Porot |
