Inside the cloud the voice
shrouds my skin speaks me in gold flame and silver smoke
just once to be inside of something to be story and not prelude not aside
but inside wear holiness like a second skin once I stood
at the edges of sea of story I sent a baby boy down the Nile
floating toward myth I dance between the lines of midrash
and memory listen to my hum if only to hear myself keep my self
from disappearing slave to the story I give it drinkMoses' gift to dry up water splitsea
mine to draw water from depths find it
mistress of belowbeneathbetween penetrate sand
listen for the still small pool sing water to surface Miriam
bitter sea snake charmer wandering well [End Page 65]
When the words rise up burst from undergroundmidbar midaber midaberet
my voice dangerous not chosen disobedient
suddenly my name called Aaron and Miriam
my name swept up in the cloud icy smoke wet
fire bittersweet vaporous voice scolding
paying attention any attention to be called the seer seen
woman sister prophet daughter threatThen in an instant the cloud lifted almost took my name lost
but look:
my skin as snow
white unwritten wild wet
the voice tattooed in flesh subtle shades of sands at noon
shifting shadows under moon Read my skin
like fortune tellers read tea leaves like trackers map journeys
the future shining like new snow a timbrel a cupSkin parched outside inside a well please, please don't heal me now
this is my kiss of G-d marred garments
souvenir of saliva rough desert beauty imperfect
secret moisture seeping through cracks
Story speaking white as snow no
white as paper skin as parchment G-d writing herself
on my bodyspit spit-fire smoke-rain
air and fire on the dust of my skin the well
dwelling withinBut Aaron and Moses brothers want to fix me erase
my gifts my power my miracle wounds
please G-d heal her now I don't want to be healed
stripped naked of difference normal again
on the outside the woman buried white tombstone of text
they were always so jealous stripped of godliness stripped
of voice like a leper estranged silent
sent outside the story don't you remember who saved you? [End Page 66]
In 7 days my skin was normal, surfaces smooth and solid, but I never healed
skin bound so tight gagged no place for the water to rise
for the words to well up the people mourned
even G-d cried disguised tears as spit does he think I don't know
the nuances of wet? and the well was silent riverbeds dried up
but under the surface of story of parchment
the water flows unnamedstill speaking if you listen
listen closely you will hear the soft murmur of rushing water
it sounds like a songEpilogue:
I could have helped Moses even after death
when I turned to sand became rock
if he had spoken to the rock I would have heard
and opened up for him the well inside
but he struck the rock
he struck the rock
he never understood how to coax a woman's desires
from the protective shell of her body
Yiskah Rosenfeld holds an MFA in poetry and an MA in jurisprudence and social policy. She teaches classes in Judaism, feminism, and creativity and served as coordinator of Kol Isha, the first Bay Area conference on Jewish women's poetry. An award-winning poet, her poems and essays appear in publications including Yentl's Revenge, Jewish Women in America, and Lilith Magazine. Now a rabbinical student, she is writing on Biblical encounters between women and G-d for a Jewish women's studies certificate through Temple University.