My visit to the Round Square

Walking down Dizengoff Boulevard the other night I found myself in the “Round Square” the Square with the round fountain. The Square was dark, I walked around and around taking in the faces, the notes never read, the soldiers, the others lost to the darkness on the 7th then the storm that followed.

Blue & White flags, little plants, the sea of pictures, moments frozen. Weather, time has taken its toll, some broken, all uncovered, face up embracing the heavens, the stars.

Is he here? The boy in the neighborhood, played with the kids. There is always the one, a sweetness only found off a tree never forgotten. In darkness I circled. Another time yes, I’ll come another time, in the light, yes in the light.

Two full circles I did that night, time stopped. Names to faces, faces to memory, to those our debt never paid. Around I walk. Israel is small, everyone knows everyone except for me. I am not from here, I look down, I see no one. I am home.

The sun and moon pass, it is what they do. In the light my return, no purpose, yes in the Round Square. A young mother with a stroller here. Who do we share.

I make my way in the light, faces come to life. Remember the names, the faces and the lives. All are smiling looking handsome, pretty, all sharp, those uniforms, pride. The darkness, don’t they know? The darkness, what did they see.

Around I walk. Israel is small, everyone knows everyone except for me. I am not from here, I look, I see no one. I am home.

Where is he, now a man then a boy. I look and look, all looking back. Why are they here. I want to see him, I can’t find him. Playing in the neighborhood, just another with the kids. Like the wind he ran, special. I look.

Little plastic flower pots blown over are put back. The pictures, as they are, all uncovered, all face up, still in the lives that were. My brothers, my sisters, who are they, where from, what lives did they have, who did they love.

Their faces pull me around and around the Round Square the strings of the marionette. Weathered all by the sun, the moon and the rain, our end we are all. The wind today is strong. That young man, where is the boy. My eyes desperate to speak of something I can not understand.

There, a picture, face down, why?  No, no, no, pictures must be face up eyes to the heavens, to the stars. Make this right, do my part, blown over, turned over by the wind, make it like the rest, at rest. Turned over it finds my fingers reaching. That boy, a sweetness only from a tree, that boy who ran like the wind. Why in the picture the grown man holding my hand now. Familiar is his face, like that boy who ran like the wind.

Blurry, blurry, sit, sit now. Breathe, breathe, take a sip, my cheeks wet and cold, why. Breathe. Inhale, exhale, stand. Like flowers in the field I always have words. A dark storm could only take beautiful flowers from this field.

The sun and the moon came and went, I returned. The picture my fingers found to turn over. My hand held by that young man, where is he. I am not done, please where is he. I looked, I looked everywhere. The storm, the wind, nothing.

Nothing. Goddammit! I cried to the heavens and the stars, nothing.

Yes, yes, he went back to help others, that must be it. The man, the boy who ran like the wind, that must be it. Yes, that must be it.

Around I walk. Israel is small, everyone knows everyone except for me. I am not from here, I look beyond the Round Square, I see him now. I am home.