ISSUE: Spring 2012
The sudden quiet of a room emptied of noise.
Only the Hebrew, a stone on his tongue.
The boy who carried his suitcase up the stairs
swayed as if into a thought.
What is holy? No walls of Jerusalem stone,
no microphone discreetly clipped across a lapel
to announce when to stand. The more
you need them, the more words demand.
Window sills honored with books,
pictures of the righteous, watching:
this is how we learn to walk,
a father stepping back, just out of reach.
