Seven o'clock in the morning
jolted out of a dreamless sleep.
Ambulances chase to South Tel Aviv.
The sound of countless sirens.
the radio broadcaster announces
half a dozen killed,
butchered with one sharp kitchen knife.
The terrorist hacked them down
as they waited for the bus.
The next day I walk down my street.
The blood all gone,
cleaned up by the Chevrat Kaddisha.
A shrine of flowers, candles lit,
photographs of the ones lost.
The pizzeria I work at
He handles the sharp kitchen knives
cuts the vegetables.
Each time I turn my back
I see the knife stab into my flesh.
Habib only talks about his pregnant wife.
He radiates love
prays for a first born son.
I am ashamed of my suspicion.
The fear of knives though stays,
as well as the fear of being in crowded places.
My friend Ruven has a memory, too.
His stomach turns
each time he smells barbequed meat.
He survived the Lebanon War.
His best friends Yehuda, David and Ben
did not escape the burning tank.
-- Dorit Brauer
Dorit Brauer grew up on a dairy farm in Germany's Lower Rhine Valley. She lived in Tel Aviv, Israel, from 1989-1997. She moved to the United States in 1998. She resides in Scott Township, practices holistic medicine and teaches meditation. Many writers featured in Chapter & Verse are guests of Prosody, produced by Jan Beatty and Ellen Wadey. Prosody airs every Tuesday at 7 p.m. on independent radio, WYEP 91.3 FM.