Log Cabin Chronicles

The Israeli


He's squatting on his haunches like the old
image of a Chinaman with a long
pigtail, his clothes hanging on his scaffold:
weakened bones with no place to belong.

His black beard contrasts against his forlorn
face, eyes closed against the fading light
harbor age beyond their years in timeworn
sockets, turning within to fight the fight.

One hand at his temple holds his lolling head
the other hangs lifeless from his bent knee
One acts like a post forestalling dread,
The other, a lifeless limb from a leafless tree.

He's wearing a mangled hat that covers
his head, respectful of his praying facade,
A mirage of tranquility hovers
as if he still believed there is a g-d.

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Copyright © 2006 Adrienne Fisher