Tal, My Tal

Yehuda Halevi, the Andalucian wrote,
"My heart is in the east, and
I am at the edge of the west."

Visting from New York, I take an elevator
to the Tel Aviv Carlton's rooftop spa and
behold a city dressed in white, the sea,
her sequined scarf. I imagine how long ago...

I could as easily have stayed here, carved
out a life, had a child named Tal, like
the Tal from El Al, red head, tough and sweet.

I see her blushingly beautiful, Tal, my Tal,
early morning dew on bougainvillea. I hear
her calling me, whispering my name.

I turn and see an Ethiopian girl, thin as a stick,
jumping in and out of the water, yelling "Emma,
count for me, see how long I stay under."

I see a blond of four, born in Frankfort, having a
tea party with herself, tiny cup, tiny pitcher,
visiting grandpa.

A couple from Paris lotioning a baby,
placing him in inflated tub, pushing

him along with help of sky and sun.

All of us, like Yehuda,
part here, part there, glimpsing
past, present, and what may still

be ours to have.