מאירה.

Exodus through the Red Sea’s walls. A familiar walk from Egypt, Chag HaMatzot. We, my love, from worlds of far and close, and we walk together along the ocean, as waves crash, Poseidon howling, “What have you done, lovers, to me.”

Will the sweetness of taboo’s entanglement imprint forever on our hearts, or, make your hand slip from me, mine from you. If I try to stand on sand past has brought me to, on this sacred, only space promised by God, will you be safe with me, me with you. My land, your land, our love, our home. Where peace floats away, dissipating into nothingingness, with only haunting screams continued from holy day. Will nourishment only be fear and tears, or, will my child and your neighbor’s child feel blessed and free. If we look across a vast kingdom, together, does this mean you are not my son, too. If I share with you a love that only a lover could, an imaginable love, can our place be you in me, me in you.

Will my precious daughter be returned to me, how I cry out for her, to only see her smile again. Or, will this mean the end for my sister, your bother, too, enduring a war, crippling the leg birthright stands on. Leaving only remains of children’s toys, and where music ends from terror of victims’ solitudes, kidnapping us, too, taking us far away from us two. Hades now moans in his undertone, “Where will you go, lovers. Come to me, together, or, alone.”

I understand no language other than Israel. And you. My given necklace broken, מאירה, and yours, Star of David, resting next to a crescent moon.

Excerpt from
Between Jerusalem and Mexico, a taboo love.