Jan 152010

by Lyn Lifshin

someone writes kike on

the blackboard and the

“k’s” pull thru the

chalk, stick in my

plump pale thighs.

Even after the high

school burns down the

word is written in

the ashes. My under

pants’ elastic snaps

on Main St because

I can’t go to

Pilgrim Fellowship.

I’m the one Jewish girl

in town but the 4

Cohen brothers

want blond hair

blowing from their

car. They don’t know

my black braids

smell of almond.

I wear my clothes

loose so no one

dreams who I am,

will never know

Hebrew, keep a

Christmas tree in

my drawer. In

the dark, my fingers

could be the menorah

that pulls you toward

honey in the snow