This poem is taken from PN Review 253, Volume 46 Number 5, May - June 2020.
Three Poems
Yom Kippur 2017
after Yehuda Amichai
On Yom Kippur, 2017, the year of DACA, I put on
my wedding kittel and walked through a city
that was neither old nor young.
For a long time, I stood in front of a poster
of the Old City of Jerusalem that was hanging
from a Chinatown bodega.
Outside Damascus Gate,
I could almost decipher a poet, dismounting
to confess a year’s supply of regrets
to an Arab shopkeeper.
I lifted up my eyes to the corner
where a ram appeared, still and hornless,
afraid of its freedom.
The shop was full of shofars, dangling from the ceiling.
...
after Yehuda Amichai
On Yom Kippur, 2017, the year of DACA, I put on
my wedding kittel and walked through a city
that was neither old nor young.
For a long time, I stood in front of a poster
of the Old City of Jerusalem that was hanging
from a Chinatown bodega.
Outside Damascus Gate,
I could almost decipher a poet, dismounting
to confess a year’s supply of regrets
to an Arab shopkeeper.
I lifted up my eyes to the corner
where a ram appeared, still and hornless,
afraid of its freedom.
The shop was full of shofars, dangling from the ceiling.
...
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