A Requiem For the Dovekeepers
A Requiem for the Dovekeepers
We went walking through the orchard, toward terraces where ancient olive trees and huge, twisted grapevines grew.
The birds were cooing. I felt a pulse in my throat, remembering how I had waited for my prey in the wilderness, how they had come to me and how I had destroyed them.
He vowed that the color of my hair was shared by all the most beautiful women in his land and, he added slyly, in mine.
I recognized Ashtoreth, the mother and warrior, whose presence has been long outlawed.
Chayei ‘olam le-‘olam. Eternal life, forever.
Sometimes people imagine I am crying, they believe they’ve spied a tear, but they’re wrong.
I now understood it was our duty as human beings to see behind the veil to the inside of the world, to the heart of things.
I wished to be forgiven.
(Lines taken from The Dovekeepers by Alice Hoffman,
Pages 83; 92; 130; 157; 220; 242; 289; 377)
|