These days, while you sleep,
I listen to nigunim, the wordless songs,
the melodies of the pious ones,
and at the same time I read occupied
poetry, poems of those under
siege, relentless
bombing.
Unending attention.
Each evening, now,
I stay awake trying to understand the whole
of human history,
the entirety of the world, from every angle,
from every vantage point.
I am trying to
construct a complete universe
of understanding,
to gather up all the shards
of brokenness.
I read and read and read and read and read and read.
Later, I send money in every direction,
and because I cannot yet speak, I
borrow words from others.
I cut them out of newspapers,
out of ancient, holy texts,
and I paste them together,
one on top of the other,
fragments trying desperately to
cohere.
During the days I go to the kitchen
to check the news
so that you will not see.
I stand in the pose of a mother
preparing a snack,
and I put my hand on the counter
to remind myself that
I am here.
At night I write
poems that in the morning
I erase.
—
Noa Silver is a writer living in Berkeley, California. Her debut novel, California Dreaming, is forthcoming from She Writes Press in May, 2024.
