Waiting with the “Women of the Wall”
mosaics of jagged, stone crannies.
Crannies, clutching cargoes of hope –
Prayer-paper-pleas – Ghosts in dust-haar,
oozing desperate do-or-die, poetry.
Keening – Silenced in black and blue ink, or
grey graphite. Rivers of red standing down,
a prayer-policeman’s hiss. His rebuttal of my
prayer-paper-plea’s rings of rote – The runt.
I knew nothing of stone stand-offs, then –
Now. Now, all I see are gaps. Gaps without
pontoons – XY-chromosomes’ still
“The Women of the Wailing Wall” Wait –
Their every breath a shadow……..
I wait, with them.