Haneshama B’kirbi

like a blowfish
no!
like an Arab womb, heavy with child
but faster –
like a balloon,
the soul within me expands
to fill the hills, sandy and green
that stretch beyond my window
to Jerusalem

In fat orange pepper arising from arid sand,
a miracle in Gush Katif,
In the hot breath of a Bedouin’s camel
In a taxi driver’s Torah
In a bracha from the Rebbe
In a thousand Hebrew voices
In the dreams of the Jews
I expand
I inflate

in the sherut, back
i cry and cry
the soul within me deflates,
shrivels and wrinkles -
has to,
to fit
Outside the Land.