17 Tammuz
4th Month Out from Egypt
Wild drumbeats rumbled through the ground like distant
thunder, pulsing in defiant rhythms and vibrating
the hollows of my chest. My fingertips echoed
the beat against my knee until a glare from my mother across
the tent stilled their dance.
“Shira, finish your work.” Her bone needle resumed its skillful
motion as she bent her head to peer at her embroidery. The
dim oil lamp highlighted the silvery strands that seemed to
thread her dark hair more each day—a trend that had begun a
few years ago, when my father died against an Egyptian whipping
post.
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