Amnon Shamosh

HOLY CURTAIN

My mother loved the beauty
of words
that joined together
my father loved
the letters
that flowed from his hands

My mother’s words
a thread of grace a thread
of benevolence
spread over them
sheaving them
into an inner
melody

My father’s letters
symbols he loved
threads of silver
with threads of
gold
on Holy Curtains
of a synagogue

My father left to me
no silver no gold
only
the tip of a thread
and swarms
of letters

May my
poem
to him be
a little curtain
hanging
in glory

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