ISRAEL

porat_el@einhahoresh.org.il

A Cracked Icon

A Cracked Statuette


In the summer of seventy-nine,

Sheltered in the shade, on a step in Market

Street, in the shop of a Christian Arab,

While my hand was stroking the halo of hair

Of a graven statuette -

A startling voice suddenly broke out,

A young announcer begging, pleading: hurry, whoever is able,

Whoever is near, run to the tower

Of the Church of the Holy Sepulcher -

Through the lattice you may know her:

Wrapped all in black but her hair is fair,

And her car still pulses below her.

And when I arrived - I was late -

With those who were called to her aid,

The helpers, the radio was screaming,

And all the city was frozen, holding its breath -


Already she lay there, stretched out in the square:

Innocent, beautiful, and wrapped all about in the shining

Radiance of a cracked statuette.

Translated from the Hebrew by ASHER HARRIS.

© Copyright 2001, Elisha Porat .
All Rights Reserved. Printed By Permission.