Herring. Sex. A good book of poetry.
A pub, beer, a blues singer.
Dipping bread into leftover gravy.
I wrote these lines at breakfast time
later there was honey
on my nipples
which you licked
light streaming through glass bricks.
Later there was silence
I lay among bread crumbs
my hair dipped in leftover
oil and herring.
From the book Don’t know the way of a girl with a dress
Tammuz Publishers, 1998
Translation: Dorit Weisman