Coins, and: Peace, and: Last Days

Coins

You should always keepsmall change on hand,the chance is always therefor a small exchangewherever you are:

ripe figs on a dusty roadsideoffered by a cross-legged Bedouin,strange leaves in a kiosk in Tel Aviv,a Breitling-like watch on a crowded boulevard. . . .

If you ask me, you should always buy everything,decide afterward if you've been sated or not.

Peace

How many wars have we seen?I mean the ones that seared uson the news, in the papers,the wide screen, the water cooleras well as those that hoveredover our heads, gnawed at the door,made only our blankets seema safe place. When I think ofwhat our eyes have seen,our ears have heard it's no wonderwe can't even dreamof peace as more thanan easy word.

Last Days

Tell my husband to come for me,she says, pointing her finger to make sureI can see she isn't vague, deluded. Tell him a crimehas been committed against me and that only hecan come to this place and release me from the bedto which they chain me each night.

What are you laughing at back there?He's not laughing, I say.He's sympathizing with your plight.He's mocking me. Don't mock. You can't realizehow I suffer here. I don't know whyI am being punished but I know I am innocent,have done no harm to a single soul.

Promise me

you will go to my husbandtoday and tell him to come for me.I promiseand then cannot bearto visit this paralyzed bodyor even return to her hospital bed.

Promise meAnd then she is dead

Her grave, with its long hyphenbetween date of birth and deathwhispers

Never mind.