The Scroll of Anatiya. Zoë Klein
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mother, Jedidah daughter of Adaiah descendent of David. She was named for the psalmist’s own son. 16Your father sacrificed unclean animals to chipped idols, pounded his breast in painted temples. 17You were old enough to remember when your father’s own courtiers murdered him and the people of the land did then massacre them. 18With the bloodied hands and thirsty eyes of wolves, they lifted you upon the chair. 19A people awaited your rulership, while you sadly consented to overcome your years. 20A shepherd from a little lamb was forged. O, your eight years must have seemed to you as eight branches of Temple light, filled with oil and set on fire! ~wrote Anatiya.
21You found a companion in Shaphan the scribe. He delivered you a message from on high. 22He proclaimed: “I have found a scroll of the Teaching in the House of the Lord!” 23And Shaphan read to you as Jedidah did when your childhood was still a gift. 24He read, “These are the words that Moses addressed to all Israel on the other side of the Jordan.” 25You did not stir, you barely blinked all the while he read, all through the night by a dim oil lamp. Your heart leapt when he read “O happy Israel!” and a moment later you wept when he read, “He buried him.” 26As he ended the scroll, in that tiny moment, the Lord showed the whole land to you. 27It was cringing and crying to you. You tore your garment, wept and stood. 28You trusted no man at that time, and so you sought the wisdom of a woman, the prophetess Hulda. 29Her husband was the keeper of the wardrobe, and he was knowledgeable in robing. But she was knowledgeable in disrobing. 30She knew to peel away the thick husks and see to the clear kernel of truth within. She showed you the word of the Lord ~wrote Anatiya.
31The Lord set you ablaze with anger toward those other altars. 32There was a fraction of Moses within you when you flared up against each and every wild golden calf. 33You hated the parade which tore with glitter-teeth at your carefully sown gardens, galloping through your royal orchards where the voice of God was known to stroll. 34There was a fraction of Noah within you when you invited the waters to purge the land. 35You ground the bones of the priests and burned them on their altars. 36You hewed down the incense stands and the shrines of the gates, turned Ashera and Ashtoreth into dust, demolished the Baals and the cubicles of male prostitutes. 37You burned the chariots of the sun and froze the fires of Molech, so that no child should be tossed into that raging pit. 38You melted molten images into precious rivulets until the land bled silver, copper, and fine gold.
39O beautiful Josiah, you turned to the Lord with all of your heart and soul and might. 40The Lord swore that no disaster should befall whilst your good eyes still shine. But it has been said that you will be slain before your time, plucked early from your place so that you should not see God’s wrath. 41But I shall see it, and I shall live it. O protect our righteous King Josiah that the day may not come! 42Hulda did not tell you all that she saw, Josiah. 43She knew your end and hid the words, “Beware the river Euphrates!” ~wrote Anatiya.
44The icy moon removed her hood,
thinking that she was alone. So small are we
to her that she mistakes us for empty space.
45You turn back the cover while you sleep
and I see your shoulder, round and bare,
luminous as the water’s moon-reflections.
46So unlike any man, Jeremiah,
you are dust of stars, ashes of the silvery moon.
47I have resolved to adopt you as my life,
and I offer you my presence
which shies away in love.
48I offer you my faint, vaporous presence,
that you might ever-suspect
you are fiercely loved.
49I tumble to you, an uprooted weed,
over undulating hills.
50Let us lie down in our weariness
and let my breath be a cover to you,
warm and sweet as a field
where you dream of sweeping trees
and silence.
4
Return your soul, O prophet
~wrote Anatiya.
2Return your soul
from its celestial academy
where angels read praises
by the light she emits.
3Return your soul,
restless sleeper,
from its wandering on high.
4At night our bodies peek into the kingdom of death.
5Return your soul, O prophet,
let day not break without your return,
that nations might bless themselves by you,
that holiness might not flee our realm.
6I adjure you men of Judah and Jerusalem, do not scorn me!
I am powerless at the end of desire’s short leash.
7Boars snuff for truffles in the dust.
Children scuffle for coins in the sand.
8Treasure hunters and grave robbers
tunnel a labyrinth through Sheol.
9All eyes comb the footpath for
a gem, a creeping herb, an antler for luck.
10Last night as I lay upon my mat,
my soul sought to find the one I love.
11I walked through a damp garden
and a glisten caught my eye.
12A drop of star, a tiger’s tooth,
I crouched down to pick it up.
13In my hand it was tiny and soft
like a baby’s earlobe, and I
loved it like a baby.
14It was the foreskin of an eight-day-old prophet.
I’d trade a truffle, a coin, a treasure
to any finder’s keeper for the piece of you
their flint-stone sheared away.
15This is the key to your covenant with Heaven,
I held it aloft to the moon.
16Last night as I lay upon my mat
I found the ghost of your missing piece
and I put it into my mouth.
I chewed it delicately and
swallowed it down.
17I woke with the taste of apples.
Jeremiah, I dream you
and I wake in a spin.
18Citizens of Judah and Jerusalem,
cup your one heart like two hands
under a clear fountain.
19Lift your heart to your lips
and tip your palms, drink deep.
Reshape yourselves a vessel.
20Jeremiah’s soul is an aviary
that houses every broken wing in Israel.
21Jeremiah’s heart is an atrium
in which flutters a nightmare
of chirping and squawking,
God’s mad accounting.
22Perched upon an olive shoot,
one mournful bird surveys it all.
23She