Shabbat Candles Poem by Tovli Simiryan

Sounds of women
talking, pretending to speak
near hallways or kitchens—
they plant, harvest

silence,
with guarded stillness.

Massive loaves of braided bread,
roasted eggs, still with darkened shells
escape
their creative hands; clean fingers.

From an island un-named, unclaimed,

pretend there is a message
imbedded from a

wind of trees or raindrops
from the mikvah.
Speak for me, your sister;
I am broken from many pieces
and wander

from a sharp tongue
maybe love.
my silence, too, provides power
above chaos-

so impassioned, so opaque
sometimes
even you
discover the lock
that turns.

First appeared in Ariga; Copyright ©Tovli Simiryan MMV