Felt Presence, Seen Presence


At night, the soldiers came.

At night, the settlers came,

while we slept.

In the morning, we woke,

walked to the road.

The farmers came.

Two by two we went with them.

In the afternoon,

we left the groves of trees,

left the bulging sacks,

bursting with hard, small,
green-black olives.

I never saw the village press

that makes the oil –
a thick, dark yellow, at first.

I saw the soldiers.

I saw the settlers.

I saw the farmers.