Jonathan Dubow
Yiddish Poem

The Governor hasn’t
slept. A knife
was inserted there
in the open eye
of midnight.
Brick buildings
sadly whistle. Is it
a dream? Has anything
happened? Pour
the oil because
everything is still
simple and
at the same time
concealed in the
same forest in which
joy passes for
misery. Let
my ear soak up
the rain. Who is
now tearing down
the dark dress
of the night
while the
Governor’s lips
whisper, Save us,
and the trees
in the Governor’s
garden dream?