137

By the waters of Babylon
There we sat
Sat and wept
Remembering Zion

There on their poplars
We strung up our strings
For those who removed us
Asked us to move them with song.

Our carefree captors demanded more mirth!
"Sing us," they cried, "a song—"
"—the legend of Zion's birth!"

How can we sing without souls
YA— without Yerushalaim?

If I do forget
May my right hand tangle
In the frets my left hand knows,
My lips be welded one seamless skin
If I turn from the ashes of your grace
Even to spit into ecstasy's face!

But I do remember—You do too!
How the red-faced sons of Esau cried
"Give 'er more fire!"—"Burn the Bride!"
"Strip her! Strip her!" they cried—"to the bones!"

Babylon's virgin, whose hymen will rupture,
Rapture to he who rapes you
Joy to the saint who will cradle your infants
To dash their heads against the stone!


© Dan Goorevitch, 2002