Poems

The Language of my Parents

In my mother there is a break
In the heart of language
Like a head
Scarf
Covering her roots.
 
 
In my father there is a language
Neglected
Like a baby forgotten
In some Ben Gurion tent,
Like a periphery
Forgotten by god.
 
 
From the ruins of the language of my parents
I shall build a house for my children:
 
 
No middle
Without beginning