Vayeshev — And he dwelt
A long time ago
in a holy land far, far away
a father of many
pitched his tent.
It happened in an exact spot
and we’re still arguing about it.
By we’re I mean everybody.
Not just us, but everybody.
We’re arguing about the spot.
We’re arguing about who
gets to dwell in the spot.
We’re arguing about whether
that first guy had any right
to be there, or more exactly
his descendants whose buildings
have other people’s buildings
built on top of them.
Everyone is trying to prove something
and our agreements only last
a few minutes before
someone says nah and
the blood starts to flow again –
just outside the body. All of this
used to be orange groves
I used to say in my old neighborhood
and before that it was just a valley
which is a low place, or a Canaan
and before that the tectonic plates
pushed everything around. This whole
civilization is half a blink of an eye.
I’m the descendant of someone
who lived a second ago.
We all are.
When the eye finally closes
No one will remember our buildings or borders
We’ve been promised nothing.