Jerusalem
My First Love
By Jenny Sherman - current EYAHT student
Jerusalem
makes me cry
with its caramel hills
delicate persimmons
and the blooming ancient stones
that have cradled Sages
and the knowledge that
after having left her
for two millenia
she wouldn´t
produce for anyone
becoming stony in our absence
that now she is slowly warming to us again
forgiving us and offering
another chance
slowly but surely bringing forth
fruit
the likes of which I never knew
could exist
just for us
as a message:
Stay, this time.
Together we can get it right.
But what of the man at your gate
pointing his sword toward your
olive-branch neck?
Her smile
the moon
rises in reply
Never again, she says
drawing her bow back toward the gate
with
delicate hands not suited
for warfare,
shall we be parted
