Jerusalem: The Wall

Maya Gelsi

I saw the child’s big scrawl On paper folded once and Stuffed between two ancient stones In the wall. “I wish” it said, and I Stopped reading. Their green dreams, starry and quiet Run parallel to mine-- Like if I could only turn Away from my rough-throated gray house, I’d be in their Breathless world, exhausting the butterflies.

Now there are too many vague factories Along the arthritic river Clicking out patterned futures. What could I wish for but absence?

The child’s penciled hope prickles my eyes and I pinch them closed, Not in time to stop A hot drop.