This is Like Prayer

In a park in Jerusalem
I sit on a bench
Stone at my back
It is cool spring
Light jacket
No socks
and the grass is so green
Patches of sunlight, warm
Purple dripping from the trees

Beneath the canopy of green I smell them
The scent heavy beneath
from what hangs above
from what grows to the side
Sage, lavender, I never know
my sense of smell has never been good
but here, in this city, it is always better
than other places
The scent, heavy, familiar, makes me want to weep
A happy-sad weeping
and I understand what he meant
about smell being the most spiritual of the senses.

I hear birds and buses and
an occasional siren
I read
my book

This is peace
This is prayer

In the holy city

A quiet I accept more readily
In Jerusalem

my city.

- EKG'16
Scroll to Top