Daughter of Jerusalem, to who— to what— to which?
A comparison? An allusion? Some fine cut cliche?
How can I describe you? Will I soothe you—
Sweet girl, dearest daughter, fairest of Zion?
Contrite, contrition like— exactly, just so, the ocean: vast, churning.
Who of yours will close, dress— heal — your gaping?
Your prophets foretold false for you
foolish things; no insight entering your iniquity,
no clap or rap or slap to turn you round to relief.
Oh they did see— empty axioms, analogies, adumbrations—
actually exile, and exile, and exile after exile.
Over you— hands clap.
Over the daughter— chins wag.
Over Jerusalem’s bright girl— acid banter.
Over her charnel adornment— chuckles and snarls:
“Is this exquisite charm, twisted prone? Voluptuous
rubble to quicken an itching heart? The city of God!”
Over you jagged every jaw,
all your despisers hissed, snorted—
gallows humor of day laborers cleaning up:
“It’s all over. Took this job just to see that. Worth the wait.
Oh, yes— appreciate the leftovers. Scrumptious. Day-old doughnut.”
Over you— the Lord brandished your enemies,
as the fine shine line of the victor’s sword.
He did what he planned. A man of his word. Stand up.
He waited; he destroyed; he spared nothing. Both hands.
Over you— the Lord broke up your despisers with raucous one liners.
Lamentations 2/13>17 vlgt/bti
[repetition of despisers is hallow]