On Memorial Day
On Memorial day I run off from the groves.
I'm upset again, as every year.
Through the picnic smoke I watch while
The lamenting land, mournful, slumps its shoulders.
And when the ghosts are all assembled before me,
From the rocks, from the caves, from the earth,
I give a command: you are all free to memories.
I turn my face away, then whisper to us living:
That's it, Gentlemen, they are trapped.
They can't escape. They left behind
Their last will and testament, here in our hands.
(translated from Hebrew by the author and Ward Kelley)