Mara Gale Fein
In the Image
A small luminescent face pin
bought at the last minute
in Jerusalem
from an artist of
no particular renown,
her shop across the street from
the small hotel I could barely afford.
A tortured face, perhaps in ginger hijab
or worn tichel or nun’s coif,
its ruby eyes and smudged lips
with nose like a cross the artist
could not complete for weeping.
A head pinned upon a crosspiece
like on some medieval pike.
When I place her over my heart,
I sometimes prick my finger,
my blood the shadow of the crimson
cloth on which the head of this
thrice-blessed decapitant bled.
Mara Gale Fein most often writes of loss. She has been recently anthologized in Look Away Now, a collection of poems on hope and despair. Her poetry also has appeared in California Quarterly, Amethyst Review, and CCAR Journal. Other work has appeared in Tahoma Literary Review, Wilderness House Literary Review, and Poor Yorick, among others. She holds a doctorate in English from the University of Southern California.
