nettle and thistle scratched me underfoot, drawing blood
it dripped down my leg, leaving a trail, like red teardrops, they dried
in the evening sun, which hung low in the sky like an ember
as it dropped, very slowly, into the western hills
there were oceans there, father told me, wide expanses of water
wade far enough, and you would fall off into the open yadayim* of g-d
i had never been to the ocean, no, my life was bound
to these hills, to this very hike, this path ever-upwards
my father, far along in his years and aging with every appearance and
disappearance of the gray moon. his face was gray too, partially
concealed behind a beard, and very solemn
he helped me over a particularly large rock, and we came to a clearing
father seemed upset, “what is wrong father?”
he was silent, busy in his work, the sun dipping farther and the air increasingly
cold.
father had split wood, many pieces of it, until his hands were splintered and
they too, wept with blood. i offered to wrap them and he refused.
he cried among the trees, he was preoccupied.
i sat next to a pool of water, small insects crawled on its surface
they hummed near my ears, i took a deep breath and looked upwards
the servants, whom we had left with the ass,
made noise and gathered around a fire. i wished to join their merrymaking
i could see its smoke escaping, free like a bird
father approached me as i sat, the sun dipped farther and the mood (and sky)
became very dark. i was afraid, suddenly.
father would not speak to me, his eyes looked wild and i saw the endless
ocean in his pupils as we embraced. i was a snake, caught between rocks.
only still images remain, the motion has been blurred out by pain
father bound me, we both still bled, he from splinters and I from nettles,
our blood mixed in the ground, soaking the soil.
the air was metallic and fresh, a knife appeared, grasped by evil gray knuckles

(inspired by Genesis 22)

* ידיים – arms