Serving House: A Journal of Literary Arts
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SHJ Issue 2
Fall 2010

[One Poem]

Deena Linett

At Masada

The desert stretches away in every direction
beneath the stony outcrop: despite your will
you can’t escape its history, and you know,
regardless of the view, not endless.  
Gold sands, caves where once upon a time
eremites and madmen. At one edge, like a hem
on ancient raiment, the Dead Sea splashes
its erratic blue, white chemical salts
not visible from here. Blood-soaked history
present in the sands, and absent,
like your own history, as if all your dead 
had gathered in the gold and violent light, 
and you knew their endless wonder 
at the world ongoing on these hot dry winds.


“...we have been born here to witness and celebrate. We wonder at our purpose for living. Our purpose
is to perceive the fantastic. Why have a universe if there is no audience?” — Ray Bradbury