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      July 26, 2008Being Jewish in a Small TownLyn Lifshin

      someone writes kike on
      the blackboard and the
      “k’s” pull thru the
      chalk, stick in my
      plump, pale thighs.
      Even after the high
      school burns down the
      word is written in
      the ashes. My under
      pants’ elastic snaps
      on Main St because
      I can’t go to
      Pilgrim Fellowship.
      I’m the one Jewish girl
      in town but the 4
      Cohen brothers
      want blond hair
      billowing from their
      car. They don’t know
      my black braids
      smell of almond.
      I wear my clothes
      loose so no one
      dreams who I am,
      will never know
      Hebrew, keep a
      Christmas tree in
      my drawer. In
      the dark, my fingers
      could be the menorah
      that pulls you toward
      honey in the snow.

      from #28 - Winter 2007

      Lyn Lifshin

      “Sometime in 2004, I fell in love with horses. In Vermont, everyone rode. I took lessons but when it came to going to the racetrack, I brought a book. But somehow Ruffian, a gorgeous black filly who died 32 years ago took hold of me and wouldn’t let go. I lived her in dreams, writing, daydreams. I bid for her photos, articles on EBay and Amazon. She got me through a hard time. And now, Barbaro is my new love, my new obsession.”

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