I slept with all four hooves
in the air or I slept like a snail
in my broken shell.
The periphery of the world
dissolved. A giant exit sign
blinking above my head.
My family sings
its death march.
They are the size of the moon.
No, they are the size
of thumbtacks punched
through the sky’s eyelid.
What beauty, what bruise.
What strange lullaby is this
that sings from its wound?)
Here, my dead father knocks
on a little paper door. Here,
my family knocks, waits.
Come through me, my darlings,
whatever you are: flame,
lampshade, soap.
Leave your shattered shadows
behind. I’ll be the doorway
that watches you go.
Copyright © 2013 by Hadara Bar-Nadav. “Lullaby (with Exit Sign)” was published in Lullaby (with Exit Sign) (Saturnalia Books, 2013). Used with permission of the author.