Moses, such a beautiful waste,
neglected to check my watch
and forty years of desert passed by.
You’re not allowed to desert me
in an attempt to make it
to that promised, prohibited, land.
We wrestle sand and faith.
The ability to get somewhere
has been exhausted.
The desert is wide open
like an eye or a wound.
Not enough in here
to be into.
About the House Gecko
It’s summer now and I want to tell you about the gecko.
About how she comes at night to the chill wall of my room.
About her reptile tenderness glimpsing
through her transparent skin.
Quiet as night climbing up
to the painting of the rabbit above the printer,
the wolf will live with the lamb,
the leopard will lie down with the young goat,
and our house gecko with the bunny,
me with my husband and children.
On the wall she has it all upside down,
as if heads to tails are backwards,
pointing her tail first
as if it’s not replaceable.
It’s summer now, I’m awake for longer hours.
I see the sky darken,
I see the absolute blackness of the gecko’s eyes
on the other edge of her body,
a colon before the next sentence.
Through the humdrum of routine rote,
through the scorching boredom of the humid streets,
I carry you
as a hum.
Layers of body and distance,
this gift that is warped with many things
is nothing but warmth.
Can one hand another anything but attention?
As daringly as the fresh green on the treetop’s leaves
I love \ write.
That’s my protest.
You're my wall,
you're my Wailing Wall,
not the one in Jerusalem, but here in our home,
built on my heart.
This is the happiness you're capable of bringing me,
being a place to cry.
This poem is a note
I'm hiding inside you,
pleading to have more than you
to be familiar with.
This poem is a prayer
that the note will be found and heard
by someone other than yourself.
- The Wailing Wall, also known as The Western Wall, in the Old
City of Jerusalem, a place of prayer and pilgrimage, sacred to
religious Jewish people. It is the only remains of the Second
Temple of Jerusalem. People who come there have the custom of
writing their wishes on notes to god and place them between the
ancient stones of the Wall hoping they’ll be found and
Gili Haimovich is an Israeli poet with a Canadian
background who writes in both Hebrew and English and published
internationally. She won the international Italian poetry
competition Ossi di Seppia for best foreign poet (2019) and was
awarded as an outstanding artist by the Ministry of Culture,
(Israel, 2015). Both of her last books in Hebrew Orot Nechita
(Landing Lights, Iton 77 Press, 2017) and Tinoket (Baby Girl,
Emda Press, 2014) won grants from The Acum Association of
Authors and her second book Mistakefet kmo Osher (Reflected Like
Joy, Gvanim Press, 2002) won a Pais grant. She is the author of
two short collections originally written in English: Sideways
Roots (Kimchi Press, 2017), and Living on a Blank Page (Blue
Angel Press, 2008), that was published in two editions; the
second one includes some of her work as a photographer. She has
a multi lingual book Note (Ediciones El nido del fénix, 2019)
and a collection translated into Serbian Белешке (Notes, Alma
Press, 2017). Her poems have been translated into 29 languages
and published worldwide in festivals, anthologies and journals
such as World Literature Today, Poetry International,
International Poetry Review, Washington Square Review, POEM,
Literary Review of Canada, Asymptote, Tok – Writing the New
Toronto (Zypher Ptrss), New Voices - Contemporary Writers
Confronting the Holocaust (Vallentine Mitchell Press), 101
Jewish Poems for the Third Millennium (Ashland Poetry Press),
Room Magazine, Drain Magazine, Circumference and The New
Humanist. Her full volume of her poetry in English is
forthcoming in 2020, Promised Lands, (Finishing Line Press) as
well as a translated volume in French Murmure (Hum, Jacques