Miriam Green, Beer Sheva, Israel

I imagine I possess

dudaim and they tempt me to passion,

to the fullness of sons,

I wake to your touch,


towards you like a hot oven,

the yeasty smell of bread

on your breath. Instead

you disturb

my pocket of warmth,

cold seeping through thick walls,

doors locked tight.

I turn away.

You spoon yourself

around me and I warm

you, sleep

an invisible veil between us.






Women in Judaism: A Multidisciplinary Journal Spring 2013 Volume 10 Number 1

ISSN 1209-9392

© 2013 Women in Judaism, Inc.

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