Paper Bridges: Selected Poems of Kadya Molodowsky

A Letter to Elijah the Prophet

A Letter to Elijah the Prophet Old message-bearer, Elijah, I have lost all the addresses, So now I write a letter to you. Surely you have not forgotten an old friendship, When, as a child, I would open the door for you. More than once, trembling and praying, I led you To the holiday table, to the cup of wine. It can't be that now you will not hear out My long, bitter letter, This bitter megile of mine.146 Reckless, I tore up all traces of you And also the reach of my sky, And also the warmth of belief. Now my poems stand naked, like whores, But your stories cover them like doves. Abysses of strangeness have opened between us. It seems that I dug them in vain. I swear that I wanted to sow them with flowers, It's not my fault they're now filled with dung. I wanted to dig down deep to sweet springs, For myself, not taking a drop, Never pounding in a stake for myself anywhere.147 You delicately molded my palate, my throat, As, nobly, you used to sip from the cup. You are the prophet of mercy and vengeance, Your fiery chariot shatters the clouds. You know my heart. I have guided the harrow To cleanse the garden for justice and good. 357 x 7a t n A^-IXS tj&'f? oxn ,&nn nyiy px irn tnsa ,?ixn p.?a D9x*?p'o 1x2 x: rx oxn ^ p ^ x Dis *7xnp DI^ "pT WD^S;T n iix c i t?ottip n oxn ^rfrny ]x •pt yxa "it^sx DOD^XII T'^x n TX n TX , V1 '! *px 1 ^ I^TII 7a *?xa x m DOD^XH .013 ijnjr ]DITIXD rx ^ ?ixn p^a px 'n nyoyi^ yt?xV n ?iVB3^jw oirp x Diyny^ DIXI iDoxn ^ /ivVynyn yux^n tra lrp x ?DD1T"IXS 013 ly^T lt^OXH ''S ^?i rf?xn px 7T XT px ,71 i^yns xma ••.iS^iDyi TT oysy t^xn'o n x iyayia ypna^am yr-H T-I X r a a rrrren f p T I IS T^X oy n^ix px saxV p?a wyVixs •|nx H IX T»a -|xa px 1942 358 I am fallen and trampled,148 Bitten by each dog running past on the street. But my heart beats on, craving until my last breath The eternal wellspring that may still be sweet. What an injustice that you don't come take a seat At our Seders with their everyday wine.149 The songs that we sing there are so tiresome, Perhaps you'd want redemption in time. Often I wish that you would come again Over silver moon-grass, a magic shortcut,150 And take me with you again, as before, On your bright route, tasting every cup. Have you been there? There . . . there . . . behind the evil wall? In the land of pain, in the home of ruin? Is the patch on their holiday despair Larger than in the middle of the week? Did you hear a child laughing there? A child with shorn, blond hair? Did you take a sip from their cups? Did it scald your lips? So many names stick in my throat. . . I'm afraid to ask you, and don't tell me If something has happened . . . Bestir your compassionate brow, Put out my lamp, And if you have received no news, Put out my lamp And close my eyes. 1942 359 KDjtt ps nna - ma ymp ^a ins njn rx xanoa • i^ oxn ,Baxn ypmyB^ H yT nta oyn cram B ^ Byn oxn 1941 360 ...