Jewish Cemetery

East Bohemia, founded 1520

So fresh grass grows up in the underbelly
of a walnut tree, the branches thin and reaching
covered in a moss that shines silver against
an evenly pale sky

All of you lay beneath me, calmer
than I’ll ever be
your stones lean right and left
but all face one direction, east

A walnut, wet and wrinkled
rests cool between my jeaned knees
the material is soft and worn
my skin supple and fat beneath it

There’s sun on my hair
it dances across my face
and my hair holds the heat
it has been dark for four months
but today the birds have come out
to call to each other
we saw them in the empty apple orchard
cooing to the stone saints
someone had forgotten
among the shriveled fruit

A man on a plane told me
you are most at home
in the place your ancestors are buried
but some, are drawn simply
to be there
for others
to remember those forgotten

The nut splits under my nails
like bark spreading from a tree
like the sound life would make
if we could slow it down and listen

With a sigh the shell pulls apart
and where I expect to see rot
a white nut, finally free
of its veiny film
glows up at me

I offer it to you, but you refuse, and leave me
feeling the soft meat melt under my teeth

Your face is as calm as the graves, white
in the sunlight