From my kitchen window
by Rochelle Mass

I often think there's a woman on the hill
over there
who looks out her kitchen window
in my direction
as she prepares dinner for her family.

Perhaps that woman has watched our village grow
Perhaps she's seen it spread over the Gilboa
watched new homes built for young families
and children on swings in the playground near my house.

I watch Jenin stretch so wide
I have to turn my head
each way
to see the full size of it.

Perhaps that woman is picking olives, as I am
soaking them in large bins then
slicing lemons, adding coarse salt
tossing in fresh bay leaves, peppercorns and
sharp red peppers to reach the right flavor.

Perhaps she helps her husband, as I help mine
take their crop to the local press
return with gallons of golden oil.

I watch evening stagger over Jenin
as I soap my dishes
I see lights splash over the city.

I feel she is doing the same.


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