Dahliush

For Dahliah Ravikovitch 

Dahliush

I call you this even 

Though when we met 

You were already gone, so 

Now, we nestle 

Beween the pages of a book 

That was stolen from a

Public library in Texas,

That I'd bought for twenty sheqels 

On Agripas Street.

"How ever did you end up in 

Texas" I ask, pillow talk. 

But you wrinkle your nose 

At me, and say nothing

And I say, "You know, 

I too once owned a dress of fire,

My parents made me wear it,  

Year after year, until the 

White crinoline had 

Melted to my legs."

You look at me, 

Amused, but sad, and say

"What do you mean, 'you too',

Don't you recall, that 

In the end, it was

Not my dress at all, 

It was only me that burned," 

And I roll away

And you touch my back. 

The scars on my back.