Our Streets

Thank you, my femme sister. It is late here tonight in an early spring Melbourne--La Professora walks our Cello down gum tree lined Fitzgibbon Avenue, a very short avenue it is--running three blocks from Dawson Street to Union--I know streets that mean nothing to my old world--all our streets. I have finished calling ex pat registered Democrats to make sure they have gotten their absentee ballots--the debate on CNN, doing shallow breathing the whole time--so much rest on this election. Read all of Sherry's forwarded progressive statements--signed the petition asking the Republican Jewish Coalition to stop spreading their hatred--my people, my people--how has it come to this--Brooks, Kristol, all the Jewish conservative nice boys--full of their respectabilities and their fears of losing privileges--showing how Rovian they can be--these are not the Jews I grew up with--with so little of material comfort but rich in rages at economic and racial injustices--my menches. Still alive in the spirit of those who are organizing the schlepper campaign--schleppe to Florida if you have grandparents there, and counter the fear campaign against Obama--have a cup of tea, and talk talk about the manipulation of Jewish fear.

I am tired too night, but I just wanted to let you know, sublime fem, that I have received your words. Responses to my writing are rare and so I thank you for the time you took to read and write. And Lepa, you are always in my heart--your streets, the streets of Belgrade and Sarajevo, connect to my little avenue in my heart, in my sense of history.