Journeys of reinvention, neighborhood of refuge
and cinema, where a poet’s footsteps echo louder
than those of the redeemer
Squashed olives on the stairs that belong
to cats and brides and graduates
Water gushes toward the valley in cascades
of petals, pebbles
Windmill sails hover over puddles, blurring
the reflection from the wine bar’s lightbulbs
On Pele Yoetz Street, my father pauses and recalls
our first walk one week ago —
the synagogue we passed, the bench we sat on
the photo he took of his wife and daughter
fountains and children in the background
and David’s tower
Nodding, he repeats out loud the names
of all that he may not return to see —
the sultan’s pool, the mayor’s park, the Turkish wall
days in a hotel on Hebron Road
room with a panoramic view
my mother on the edge of the bed
sewing my leggings’ seams
my father on the other side stretched out
resting after hours of sun and stones
and I, child again between them
watching the sky embrace the Mount of Olives, Zion
Julia Knobloch is a rising fifth-year rabbinical student at HUC-JIR Los Angeles. She also serves as poetry editor for Ben Yehuda Press.
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