by Liz Marlow
Kyiv, Passover 1908
While waiting to be pulled, dried up,
crushed into tea leaves, chamomile
flowers sway back and forth in prayer.
A man dressed in shadows, gold
and jewel-crowned fingers, drinks
Elijah’s wine, promises ovenbirds
and coral trees. I become
a field of chamomile while he
becomes the wind, scattering
who and what I am. Father gives
him sand, gravel, and stones—
our path could become barren or lush,
a dead-end or never-ending. It could
become a reflection in a pond
or a mirror covered during shiva.
Liz Marlow is a Jewish American writer. Her debut chapbook, They Become Stars, was the winner of the 2019 Slapering Hol Press Chapbook Competition. Her work has been included in Best Small Fictions and nominated for the Pushcart Prize, Best of the Net, Best Microfiction, and Best New Poets anthologies. Additionally, her work has appeared in Beloit Poetry Journal, The Greensboro Review, The Idaho Review, Valparaiso Poetry Review, and elsewhere. She is the editor-in-chief of Minyan Magazine and a coeditor of Slapering Hol Press.
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