SUICIDE SISTER

Of course I think of her all the time,

walking with her belly in the streets of Jerusalem,

thinking all the time that at any minute

she might make herself give birth

to the rusted nails, shrapnel,

bullets in one big explosion

that might enter

the eye or the heart

of the baby in the stroller

wheeling towards her

at this very moment.

Or maybe she stops, suddenly

seeing a face in the Jewish crowd

that recalls her own grandmother

bent even now over shopping

And turns back

to face

whatever humiliations

that await

a still

living

shamed

woman

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