A little prose-break. The next two posts are poems I wrote this past December, while on a farm in Modi’in.
The first was written about a night when, after 3.5 months of living and working together every day, one of my fellow permaculturists suggested we all tell each other--honestly, no holds barred--what we thought was wrong with one another. It was an intense night that ended up being one of my favorite memories of my time in Israel.
The second was my attempt to wrap my brain around a week-long, perspective-changing visit I had in Lebanon (also in December), 10.5 years after my first trip there, and a few months before I traveled to stay in Beirut for a longer time, planting an urban garden, learning Arabic, and dancing some Butoh.
They are both meant to be spoken, and were first read aloud in a cave with a fig tree growing out of its center in the Judean hills.
"They are both meant to be spoken, and were first read aloud in a cave with a fig tree growing out of its center in the Judean hills."
ReplyDeleteSounds like that cave was meant for poetry to be spoken inside of it.