Absalom At The Zion Natural History Museum Poem by Bernard Henrie

Owls stare from dark eye sockets.
Each face in the museum dry as Gaza.

I see my own shadow in the black and white
portraits. The autistic gaze of a dog leaning
his nose from an automobile window.

That was the year Ambassador Bolton
suggested Israel attack Iran, Fatah rockets
drifted over Jerusalem and water turned bitter
in Ramallah.

The gallery shuts down. The night watchman
passes with his flashlight from window to window.

The stars in irregular rows begin their silver stare
over the old city and the Occupied Zone.

I sit for coffee, the pages of the Jerusalem Post
ruffle in the salt laden breeze from Galilee.

I walk to the Wailing Wall, but cannot think
what to pray.