A poem about Latino angst and belonging in today’s concrete jungles, by the poet B., courtesy of Souletri.
שֶׁקֶט The Haredi woman tells me my prayers aloud are poisonous to God. שֶׁקֶט The Haredi women’s whistles and screams are poisonous to my prayer. תקשיב I enter the holy space, ready to receive and embrace the new month, Elul. תקשיב Instead of embracing melody and neshama, I am bombarded with discord and fear. שֶׁקֶט…
The early history of Central America, told through verse
Did you ever realize?