the beginning of a difficult poem

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by Agi Mishol
(taken from a segment on "The News Hour" on PBS)

You are only twenty
and your first pregnancy is a bomb.
Under your broad skirt you are pregnant with dynamite
and metal shavings. This is how you walk in the market,
ticking among the people, you, Andaleeb Takatka.
Someone loosened the screws in your head
and launched you toward the city;
even though you come from Bethlehem,
the House of Bread, you chose a bakery.
And there you pulled the trigger out of yourself,
and together with the Sabbath loaves,
sesame and poppy seed,
you flung yourself into the sky.

Comments

Annie said…
What a powerful image in this poem. Thank you for posting it to share.
3/21/2007 11:46 PM
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