A bright kibbutz dining room

named for a fallen soldier.

I tasted tomatoes and cucumbers

with vinegar for the first time.

Boys tried to press closer.

Eden already tainted, already bloody.

Tractors pulling carts of oranges,

crunching, breaking sticky carob pods.

Plates of hard-boiled eggs –

not religious practice, but still

part of the national myth.

God gave me this bounty.

I have no Hebrew name.

The tang of fresh yogurt

a whole different spiritual summons.

Sure, smug as insecure teens,

we all wore peace signs.

My body became occupied territory.

But the condom broke and

I took the risk anyway.