or boiled all soggy
that should have been fried

My father the potato man
will not sit over borscht
and sour cream
and potato
pieces

and tell me
'later I will tell you
of the cow and the farm
and my mother and Russia
and the cold. Later I will
tell you.'

My father the potato man
has no 'later' left.

but Madonnas
climbed the stairs

I started shaping
Hebrew letters

but flowers
grew instead

and in the centre
of the petals

that only last
one hour

a Buddha came
to meditate

and stayed there
quite content

Was I not present in the Old New Synagogue
when they spoke the 'customs of the Jews'
how they read the Torah
with a pointed tool
not touching parchment with their hands

Was I not present in that exhibition
when they told the 'history of the Jewish Race'
in French, Italian, German
as if they had succeeded
and there were no Jews

I floated like a ghost,
listening, not able to explain:
we have made children

with each new child
these legends, customs, histories are multiplied

with each new child
these words on parchment live

with each new child
a million voices sing.