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Contents

• Nature's Own                     by Ruth Tenenholtz 

• The Diamond Merchant     by E.M. Schorb 

• Youth                                  by Muriel Moulton

• Dream Triptych                  by Irene Getry

• Eating Fruit                        by Dvora Kreda-Geller

Nature's Own

Ruth Tenenholtz (Israel)

I scallop the watermelon rind
scoop out the red flesh
discard the pits
return the little drippy spheres
to their cradle
and admire

I cut the cucumbers in strips
and lay them gently on a
bed of lettuce leaves
and cover them in thin soft
blankets of tomato

I slice the bread
brush off the crumbs
remove the crusts
and change the squares to triangles

Now me

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The Diamond Merchant

E.M. Schorb (USA)

A diamond is forever - BJ Kidd

The buoys of memory have faint bells, noticed in the night.
I have left these chiming seamarks for the time of my return.
They ring out there, but faintly, so faintly I can hardly hear.
I think they want me to remember the severances of the soul,
if soul is more than mere electric tissue. If Death is king
and I do not reclaim what I have jettisoned, it goes to him.
I do not want the king to have my life. Therefore, each night at sea,

I must set out to find the ringing buoys and haul aboard
the lagan realities, for now my aging body, my emotional mal de mer,
lend renewed reality to the cold, damp camps. One numbered friend
should wear a wedding ring, another was engaged, and yet a third,
below and silent, had eyes like Tavernier blue diamonds set in Faberge
eggshell by the master. I cannot put a name to the smiling face I see,
but she existed, who is now the faint dream of a denouement.

           Shalom alekhem           Shalom alekhem

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Youth

Muriel Moulton (Israel)
c/o zvikabh@shaked.technion.ac.il

When I was young
I had a lot to say

pages
and pages
and pages

on one side only
in case I wanted
to add something.

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Dream Triptych

Irene Getry (Israel)

I

He was not dressed in surgeon's green,
nor in his lovely visiting whites.
It was a shift of cotton, soft and lightly printed
in pastel tints.

He didn't stand and test my broken limb as usual--
(It was a dream).
I sat and he was sitting close to me,
his profile tense, slightly gleaming--
There were no words.

A strip of light between his cotton shift and me
vibrating feverish-- There were no words--
And suddenly I understood his hidden wish.
I rose and kissed his cheek--
He breathed out, as if released--
And now we stood so very near, but without touching.
He said, taking my arm: "Come now, there, at the end,
there is my room. I need to change"--

II

We passed a dining-room, nobody ate, but
patients old and crippled sat around,
frozen in age and pain.

He went and entered through a door--

I didn't follow.

I stood in the center of the glazed eyes,
I couldn't turn my back on so much pain,--
returning freely (in my dream), held out my hand
in invitation to a woman old as life
and made her dance.
She didn't understand at first, but followed,
heavy stone, she let me lead her into joy--
The others moved, as if awakened from a trance.

A pair, another one, one single joined the woman I was leading.
The room was warm, the thumping of our hearts was music...

III

And then he reappeared.

A night blue suit was perfect on his perfect body,
his questioning smile embraced the room and me.
I said: "It has to take a little while,"
He said: "No matter, I will wait."

The people danced surrounding me,--
And all I really wanted, was to touch the lapels of his suit,
to feel the noble line of breast, to be with him.
But he went back.

Some ancient man came in between and talked,
remembering my dancing, years ago,
somewhere.

Some woman whispered, "Your skirt is rumpled--
you smell of sweat."
There was no place to wash and change--
Pine-needles strangely covered ground,
I thought, at least they will remove the smell,
lay down and rolled in them, stood up,
and so, without a worry how I looked,
at last I went to him.

I'm sure that He was waiting.

But There, before I touched his door
the dream was ... at its end.

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Eating Fruit

Dvora Kreda-Geller (Israel)

White Coat displays a test tube with our names.
Inside, male stuff like thick water or glue.
The simile is apt-- this mix sustains
and binds our lives: your father, me and you.
Gloved Hand inserts the metal speculum.
A laboratory animal, my nether
self dilates to take the needle from
a stranger because he promises a future.

After treatment, in the parking lot behind
the hospital, your father and I eat fruit.
We watch the bay's three shades of green, blinding
shards of light, floating net of foam, at noon.
We promise: It's yours, if you are born alive--
sun bolt; sea pulse; salt wave-- if you arrive.

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