Judith Malina

1926 – 2015

Roma

this city is the ruin
of ancient Rome’s empire
as new york is the ruin
of the wigwams of the Algonquin.
wherever we go we step on the past,
on the graves of our ancestors
on the graves of our mothers
every apple is the fruit
of the soil out of which it grew.
and i bite the past
with my teeth
and my feet thread on the remnants
of the beloved buried
in the mass graves
of our bloody history.

Chestnuts in Wartime

I cook chestnuts in various forms
Sometimes I am political
And sometimes I am non-political

I gather chestnuts, I roast them,
I bake them, I cook them,
I grind them into flour.
I make chestnut soups, pureés, jams,
I mix them with whatever is
Available: what grows in the ground
By the riverbed, onions and berries.
Sometimes I am part of the war,
Sometimes I think I am the only
Sane person on the battlefield.

There is only one road to Rocchetta
And not many provisions
Come through in these times.  And we
Between the torrents of the Sisola and the Borbera,
We eat chestnuts in all forms.

Jerusalem

I was reading the Hebrew myths
In the city of Jerusalem
And I fell asleep on the book
And I dreamed that an ancient king
With a golden crown
Rose out of the maps
And asked me, What do you make of these myths
And I said, Nothing. One myth’s enough for me.
And he asked further,
What do you make of those gods?
And I said, One God is enough for me.
And he asked me, Then why are you crying?
And I said, Because the God of my soul
Is a merciful God, and the God
In the only book is not a merciful God.
But before David under his crown
Could justify God to me, I woke
To the news of wars.