"The Place Where We Are Right"

       How can two  peoples, cousins, come from such opposite places ... each holding onto entirely contradictory narratives?


          The Place Where We Are Right
               by Yehuda Amichai

From the place where we are right
flowers will never grow
in the Spring.

The place where we are right
is hard and trampled
like a yard.

But doubts and loves
dig up the world
like a mole, a plough.
And a whisper will be heard in the place
where the ruined
house once stood.

       Daughter Elizabeth pointed me to this poem on the "On Being" blog website this week.  You can find the website by clicking here.