Immersion in the study of ancient history lends itself to a dream state of being, and biblical history is even further down the rabbit hole. There is good poetry to be had in these mists-of-time places and Jane Medved has her way with Herod, Cleopatra, Romans, Jews, and so much more in this fantastic collection. Her work has appeared in Cimarron Review, Spoon River Poetry Review, and New American Writing. She lives in Jerusalem, Israel, and teaches poetry.
My father’s pipe
was last seen in the hands
of a man waiting to cross the street.
It was too windy to light it,
but he held the wooden bowl so
easily that I wanted to go with him.
I wanted to be with him.
I wanted to follow him home.
There is a longing like thin smoke
that circles around strangers
and causes us to avoid each other’s eyes.
How else can I explain why I once
picked up a man on a bus because
I liked his leather jacket. He left roses
by my back door and etchings
of a frog prince and was impossible
to get rid of. Now I would gladly
curl up in the blue leather armchair
my father occupied like a throne.
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