the way I remember Jerusalem

In the morning we stood inside Bethlehem’s checkpoint and looked
through the bars at Jerusalem’s Gilo neighborhood
metastasizing over the hill.
That night I walked down Derech Aza, the road to Gaza,
a street I last saw scarred with shrapel, strewn with flesh,
the twisted carcass of the bus askew.
And tonight it is cafes and flowers ovespilling their boxes and children shouting before bed,
the way I remember
Jerusalem.

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