This project was originally inspired by a poem by an Israel poet Nadia Adina Rose.
2021


אֹרֶךְ

אִילַן‭ ‬מִשְׁפַּחְתֵּנוּ‭ ‬לֹא‭ ‬
הִצְמִיחַ‭ ‬עֲנָפִים‭ ‬רַבִּים‭.‬לַהֲקוֹת‭ ‬נָשִׁים‭ ‬
רַוָּקוֹת‭ ‬
יָשְׁבוּ‭ ‬עֲלֵיהֶם‭ ‬
כְּמוֹ‭ ‬עַל‭ ‬מִטּוֹת‭ ‬יָחִיד‭ ‬
‭.‬צָרוֹת

דּוֹדָה‭ ‬אָנָה‭ ‬וְדוֹדָה‭ ‬לֵאָה‭ ‬
קָטְפוּ‭ ‬תַּפּוּחִים‭ ‬
‭.‬לְמִלּוּי‭ ‬שְׁטְרוּדֶלִים
אֶת‭ ‬הַבָּצֵק‭ ‬שֶׁתָּפַח‭ ‬
וְתָפַח‭ ‬בַּלֵּילוֹת‭ ‬
רִדְּדוּ‭ ‬לְאֹרֶךְ‭ ‬
‭.‬וּלְרחַֹב‭ ‬בְּדִידוּתָן
פֵּרוּרֵי‭ ‬הַיָּמִים‭ ‬חֻלְּקוּ‭ ‬
‭.‬בֵּין‭ ‬צִפֳּרִים



LENGTH

Our family tree has not
sprouted many branches.
Flocks of
single women
sat on them
like on single narrow
single beds.

Aunt Anna and Aunt Leah
picked apples
for strudel filling.
The dough that swelled
and swelled in the nights
they rolled out flat to the length
and width of their loneliness.
Crumbs of the days were scattered
among the birds.


©2015, Nadia Adina Rose
From: Snow Ink
Publisher: Helicon-Afik, Tel Aviv, 2015

©Translation: 2020, Linda Zisquit
First published on Poetry International, 2020

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