Uncle Yehuda Sharvit Between Marrakesh and Draa
When my uncle Yehuda got drunk
he would dangle from the doors and walls of the hut
loosening his legs
warbling all the laughter and tears inside him.
I knew he pretended to be a dimwit, hiding in his drunkenness
to deliver a wisdom of wisdoms
a truth of truths
in the guise of a different I.
Today my uncle is a name on a scroll
in a corked bottle
between beams in an attic
there in the village of Mhamid
between Marrakesh and Draa.
My aunt Sarah, Sarah daughter of Dodo,
was, it can be said, a top-notch tam-tam drummer.
When she drummed she stirred a joyous apprehension
fused with the setting sun.
People would stop in the field:
“Sarah daughter of Dodo is celebrating,
Sarah daughter of Dodo is celebrating.”
Today my aunt is a name on a scroll
in a corked bottle
between beams in an attic
there in the village of Mhamid
between Marrakesh and Draa.
I who stand here and now
forge their names in silver and gold.
[1] Morocco’s largest river. The region of the Draa River—the Draa Valley— in southern Morocco was home to some of the oldest Jewish communities in Morocco. The author’s mother was born in the village Mhamid El Ghozlan. (Author’s note).