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Jerusalem after its fall
by Abigail George
2018-10-13 05:53:38
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Jerusalem after its fall
(for the Dutch poet Joop Bersee)

    This maternal arrangement is so
    unexpected. The feeling of these
    passing habits. These dry leaves
in autumn. A departure from the smoke found in truth and
    miracles. Stones inherited this
    firm comfort in the sand. The
jeri001_400arrival of the water at the sea’s edge
    is like a flock that trembles. Its
    mood like an itch. I know that once
    you adored her but you’re also
    haunted by pain. You’re warmth
    but also decay. He doesn’t write
    anymore and I find that I miss
    his letters. And I’m not young
    anymore. I’m old now and time is
    passing me by. Flesh is not meant

    to be wasted. Stars are just an
offering with their sacred language.
    Boneless and eyeless words. The burnt

form of feverish language that root for
the lilies of answers. Amorphous whispers.
I know what silence is but not marriage.
I know what having a child means but
not a husband. I know what having an
intellect means but not my own house.

    Seized by the wasteland of the sea.
Touched by its imperfect release, by emptiness.
    Its branched and blooming emptiness.

People, men and women consumed by
the language of sorrow, suffering and sex.
The language of music and brutish-thunder.

Lovers and burning. My skin does not
belong to me in the same way that short
stories do not belong to me completely.

Now, the origins of the day are subdued. The light

    is blubber-whale. A glorious swimming
    pool. Encouraged by the vision of a
    a shell. The health of a soulful specimen.
    Open and vulnerable. Vulnerable and
    open. You’re travelling now between
    Johannesburg and Prague. Lips red. It
rained this morning. A waterfall of a punishment.
    Of repentance. Of hope. This Jerusalem.
The sun burning my back, my neck, my shoulders.
    You were on an international flight
and I wondered what you were thinking.

    Who you were loving. Who you were
leaving behind. I wondered if you put
time aside to meditate, to pray, the you

that was as powerful as Oprah. I wondered
why you put that holy road away that carried
you through childhood and adolescence.

Abigail George has two books in the Ovi Bookshelves,
"All about my mother" & "Brother Wolf and Sister Wren"
Download them, NOW for FREE HERE!


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