Jul 10

Today I Fed God Garlic

My grandmother believes

garlic cures all ills,

even feverish, frenzied fears

so I sneak fresh cloves into my son’s soup,

I burn and boil

onion and garlic

Cooking my way through lockdown:

breakfast snack lunch snack supper midnight snack,

feeding God

damn jungle of kids

I’m scared at the doctor’s office,

waiting to remove my son’s splinter

stuck deep beneath a fingernail.

The flimsy white plastic chair feels

like sitting on a germ grenade,

my boy lolling on the tiled floor

a viral torpedo.

My footprints lie inwards,

I walk the dog in circles of 100m,

my mind on an escaped leash

moving beyond what’s allowed.

The birds are singing more these days

or am I just stopping more, listening now?

I find prayer in a piece of garlic

to peel to chop

to cook to steam

and blow like an east wind,

over Jerusalem and the Judean Hills

towards the Mediterranean and Jordan valley.

Feel the wind blow

and let us sit on the corner

of the moon,

knowing there is nothing

we can’t live without

and nothing we can.