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Snow sneaks into her poems in various ways: a ball, a doll, and mostly as flakes. Yet in other poems the reader learns that Rose's childhood has not been frozen and neither has time.

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This debut book, edited by Dror Burstein, contains about 80 poems and is dedicated to her sister, Hannah Anya Bondar, who was killed in a terror attack in Jerusalem in In Inheritance Rose writes: I didn't know how to cook. My older sister left me the birthright just like that, she went.

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Her children came to live with us, the pot widened. Its handles became farther from each other and my sister from me.

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The potatoes in it grew heavy. The faucet bent its head over the kitchen sink like a horse hitched to the house-cart. Linda Zisquit] The loss of her sister is not the only one depicted in the book. The death of her father and a slow parting from her mother, who was losing her memory, are also striking. If Bondar's death was sudden and unexpected, that of her mother, following close on her father's, was long and drawn out. The power of Rose's poems, some of which leave the reader open-mouthed, is expressed in the marvelous way she manages to fill the emptiness that has been created.

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We gathered in a field southwest of town, several hundred hauling coolers and folding chairs along a gravel road dry in August, two ruts of soft dust that soaked into our clothes and rose in plumes behind us. By noon we could discern their massive coils emerging I like the lady horses best, how they make it all look easy, like running 40 miles per hour is as fun as taking a nap, or grass.

Download e-book Neither is the Horse and Other Poems

I like their lady horse swagger, after winning. Ears up, girls, ears up!

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Acquainted with the Night Twitter Facebook Print. The dun he leaned against the bit and slugged his head above, But the red mare played with the snaffle-bars, as a maiden plays with a glove.

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There was rock to the left and rock to the right, and low lean thorn between, And thrice he heard a breech-bolt snick tho' never a man was seen. They have ridden the low moon out of the sky, their hoofs drum up the dawn, The dun he went like a wounded bull, but the mare like a new-roused fawn.

The dun he fell at a water-course - in a woeful heap fell he, And Kamal has turned the red mare back, and pulled the rider free. He has knocked the pistol out of his hand - small room was there to strive, 'Twas only by favour of mine," quoth he, " ye rode so long alive: "There was not a rock for twenty mile, there was not a clump of tree, "But covered a man of my own men with his rifle cocked on his knee.

They have taken the Oath of the Brother-in-Blood on leavened bread and salt: They have taken the Oath of the Brother-in-Blood on fire and fresh-cut sod, On the hilt and the haft of the Khyber knife, and the Wondrous Names of God.