After the bombs and the buildings blow I call Clover, Clover and you appear— a dream limned in smoke.
Clover, my hermaphroditic dear, I kiss your singed leaflet ears and fawn in a café in Eilat. Clover sips from a demitasse.
Only a few sesame seeds left and the porcelain carried away. Morning crawls toward afternoon, and the sun says it’s time for wine
to drown this red day. I hear there’s a crater where our bed last lay at the Hotel de Ruin. A portrait of dancing
lights and fire balloons, a painterly gasoline blur. Let’s find a sailboat, bread, zatar, and figs and watch the distance burn.
Hadara Bar-Nadav‘s book of poetry, A Glass of Milk to Kiss Goodnight (Margie/Intuit House, 2007), won the Margie Book Prize. Recent work appears or is forthcoming in Beloit Poetry Journal, Colorado Review, Denver Quarterly, The Iowa Review, The Kenyon Review, Ploughshares, Prairie Schooner, TriQuarterly, and other journals. She is assistant professor of poetry at the University of Missouri-Kansas City. (4/2009)