Jerusalem, 1991

[Poetry]

by Aviva Kasowski

There’s no record of the figs,
familiar in their plum-like, seedy luster.

I thought if I found the right one I could heal
my cousin’s sty. Just a hotel lobby

blasting “Phantom of the Opera”
as I climbed over laps like they were logs

trying to reach my mother. I never
considered myself a needy child.

Later, we’re walking down the street
during a carnival. I grasp my mom’s hand,

but it leaves. I grab it again,
and it goes. The sun is going down.

The twilight full of students waving streamers;
pigeons rise into whorls of static.

AVIVA KASOWSKI is a poet and fiction writer whose work has appeared or is forthcoming in Ninth Letter web edition, The South Carolina Review, Spillway, and others. She is a former Bread Loaf work-study scholar and was a poetry resident at Art Farm, Nebraska. She holds an MFA from the University of California, Riverside, and is pursuing her PhD in English and Creative Writing at The University of Georgia in Athens.