Shlomo Avayou

WASHER WOMAN IN THE SHADE OF A TREE

Your arms tower, trunks growing
out of the white, leaving foam.
Like a rain-cloud you bend over the water,
in a basin, heavy as iron.
Kneading forcefully the semen and the sweat,
the breath of the sighs absorbed by the linen
(Sighs of loneliness, sighs of togetherness).

Thus, exhausted, in the shade of a tree,
sometimes you’ll chant an old woman’s tune.
Straight from your heart, woman, from the cage
of your soul, imprisoned behind iron bars.
The song escapes, desperate, from your chest
that can also be the spring of fire and milk.

This is the slave of my fathers, the men.
Passing their amber-rosaries through their fingers,
tiq-taq-tuq, tuq-tiq-taq.
Cloaked with sombre robes
without noticing they pass her by.
Their mustaches drooping from their upper lips
and sea blue turbans adorn their heads.

Previous poem: Pnina Amit / AN EXPERT
Go back to contents

Next poem: Ilana Aviel / IN RETURN