A Poem from Israel
Epistles to the Children
I am writing to the copiers,
to those who whisper to each other in fear,
to those who scratch their loves into the tables.
To the latecomers. To the ones who gaze
through windows. For those who forget
their notebooks. For those who fall asleep in their seats.
For those who don’t know the answers.
For she who erases what she wrote.
For those who are always sitting at the end.
For he who suddenly stands and leaves.
Translation from the Hebrew