A tree was planted across the park
From my balcony I glimpse its branches
and the old men sitting in the shade
They brought it from across the sea
From a misty isle with peaty soil
fit for preservation
its roots fed by the mummies in the bogs
It finds no satisfaction in the stones of my land
the rocks of my fathers will bear it no fruit
for they sing against the alien taste its bark
and the cut of its jagged twigs as they tear pieces from the wind
I saw the roots push through the ground,
always hungry
and having found no old, forgotten bodies to sate them
wound their way into our living homes
brushing off our mezuzot
and began to feed on the people
The sky is cast in a peculiar grayness
like the dimming of a dream
and the dull sparkle of snake eyes peering into the crooked sun
I felt the chill, and asked the men
if they really thought that these,
these are the tastes of redemption
and this weed is the tree of life
They grinned, and whispered softly
as a razor passed over flesh
“These are your gods, O’ Israel”
and turned their gaze to the mountain
hands itching to plant
on her peak
And we cried, and rent our garments
praying that the stream would wait for us just a bit longer
that our brothers would keep the oil mixed
and to never forget
that we were born in fire
