the palm trees of Jerusalem, observation-points of Asherah, spying through
head-dresses into the Old City, rooted without the walls, their ecstasy
of stasis ends in the winds, then they deign to dance seismically, cracking hips
of bark

ladylike, below the splay of green fronds they wear saffron necklaces, the rest
is bodice, thrusts of pineapple sexes

a committee of palm trees in No-man’s-land, between the New Gate
and Damascus Gate, vouchsafes beauty to crossers of lines, guarantees safety
to males

they would never be paratroopers, not even on Paratroopers Road, giant
shekinahs, the sway of their shadows bowls you over, knocks you out



(Jerusalem 2014)

Poetry: Niall McDevitt
Photos: Julie Goldsmith

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