In a shared taxi, beet yellow in the

Carolina sun, an old woman describes

her exodus from a town overrun with

Jews.  They trampled the Angel Oaks,

she crows, lining their

pockets with real estate deals.


In stopped-time, we could craft a retort:

That’s rather offensive, or Would you

like to finish Hitler’s work? or (with

a sidelong glance)  Don’t you realize

you are riding in here alongside filthy Jews?


In her defense, the tropes drone on: we

are bankers, hypnotists, engines of overthrow.

Flame-wars grow fierce over statements by

Congresspeople. It’s blood libel and

bulbous-nosed caricatures all over again.


In a hospital in Ohio, bedpans clinking,

death rattles just around the bend, while

a doctor tweets a promise to pass the wrong

medicine to her Jewish patients.  Firemen

hesitate to spray because all houses matter,

sirens of the muezzins, their truck a long red

tongue licking the wounds of the street.



Alisha Goldblatt


Alisha Goldblatt is an English teacher and writer living in Portland, Maine with her two wonderful children and one lovely husband. She has published poems in Midstream Magazine, Georgetown Review, Mockingheart Review, the Common Ground Review, Literary Mama, and Portland Press Herald: Deep Water, as well as essays in the Stonecoast Review, The Wisconsin Review, and MothersAlwaysWrite. She was a featured poet in this fall’s Belfast Poetry Festival. Alisha also released a children’s book, Finding a Way, about her son’s rare chromosomal disorder and the beauty of acceptance.

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