JEWS IN GRAVE DANGER IN ALL MOSLEM LANDS; Nine Hundred Thousand in
Africa and Asia Face Wrath of Their Foes
—New York Times headline, May 16, 1948
I’ll tell you this: my house burned easy, quick
as locusts gun through fields. The desert hummed
a warning. No, I did not stay. I stick
to nothing, no Jews do. Those books un-thumbed—
he said, Let’s go, and so, we went. With him
I left myself to burn—the desert hissed
around us. Yes, I ran through sandstorms, thinned
to bone in godless night, my husband’s fist.
I’ll tell you this: I shed no tears. His corpse—
starved silent, he was buried in the camp
in Aden. Like a man, I did not mourn.
The airplane trembled, grieved. And this new land?
The stench of piss, a canvas tent. Alone
I swat the flies. Do not name here my home.