NPM 13/30: Memorial Day, Tel Aviv
Memorial Day, Tel Aviv
First Siren:
Out to walk the sun away
light dripping off of
decommissioned payphones
north of Sheinkin, by the Wic office
(Hebrew equivalent) and all
the stores are shut. No cafes
to sit in, no liquor stores, no movies
and no supermarkets. No busses
or cabs. No pizza. No gas. No Aspirin.
Some guys on bicycles,
the corner schoolyards full
of ceremony, rank formations.
Everybody stands up
for just one more anthem.
Mom calls from the States,
kids play in heaps, delivery trucks
racing to finish off the day.
The siren of the fallen halts
all traffic; everyone is still
standing with hands clasped
in the street, every last citizen
around. Somewhere they mourn
our victory and tear their garments.
The TV channels all play
the same thing. War movies,
interviews with old, brave men.Second Siren:
At work’s twelfth floor, we all take
our coffee break out on the balcony
10:55 and waiting for the wail.
The city’s heart stops, misses 120 beats,
and leaps again, an apnea of sorrow
or of thanks. The cars wait patiently
beside their drivers. Twice yearly
our enemies manage to bow the heads
of an entire nation. This is what
I would imagine it would look like
to stop time. The birds are uncooperative.
We are all cooperative, even
in death, where heroes go to become
heroes. One in every few of us is praying
for a friend, the rest for strength.Advertisement
