Here-There Spring [or Why A Truce]
for the citizens of Sderot
Here, where the sky
has stitched two clouds together,
two brown doves have been sitting
on the wall outside my kitchen window,
their heads at forty-five degrees
of separation, tails crossed in an X
which cancels something out.
Do you remember how hopeful
you once were each spring—the world
newly formed and all of it in flower?
Now a fractured sky. Red dawn.
The shriek of rockets.
Peach trees have donned white robes.
Acacias have put on their crowns.
On your sill, Cousin, a white butterfly
puts down, a piece of pale lace fluttering,
impervious to distance. Even in the desert
there are these butterflies. The whole
world hatches out, sky cerulean,
just as the world,
sprung into blossom,
Marjorie Stamm Rosenfeld