Sunday Showcase

No. 18 - Yael Herzog

Yael Herzog

This week, we are thrilled to share Yael Herzog’s poem “August, Tel Aviv.” Yael’s poetry is searing in its imagery. She is deliberate and precise in her choice of words, while resisting excess and sentimentality. You can find another poem by Yael, “Immigrant,” in our first issue. 

About the poet:
Yael Herzog is a graduate of the Shaindy Rudoff Graduate Program in Creative Writing at Bar Ilan University, and received the Andrea Moriah Poetry Prize in May, 2017. Her work has previously been published in Eclectica Magazine, Aurora Poetry, The Ekphrastic Review, and was nominated for the Sundress Publications 2019 Best of the Net Anthology. She grew up in New Jersey and now lives in Tel Aviv, Israel, where she is an English teacher, artist, and poet.

Alongside the magazine, Sunday Showcase provides additional opportunities for emerging artists and writers to share their work and gain exposure. There are no themes or deadlines, simply email us your best work for a chance to get featured across all of our channels. We accept writing of any genre and visual art of all mediums.

HOW TO SUBMIT

Send submissions to writehausmagazine@gmail.com. Be sure to include:

  • “Sunday Showcase” in the subject line
  • Your name
  • Your writing or artwork
  • A short bio
  • A headshot
  • Links to your instagram or website

August, Tel Aviv

By Yael Herzog

Basil on the windowsill limps
And furrows in the teasing breeze.
Eucalyptus leaves curling and dry,
Spread their scent across the table

Cloth like an offering, shouts from
Men in the distance. This summer is long
And hungry, and the tide is always edging
Closer, forward. Sweat grows like mold

On every pore, four
Stalks of grey sage
Stand tall and already dead.
The floor is not swept, the sun

Keeps pushing its body whole
Into my home, an unwelcome guest.
What do I own? The windows open,
The day unmine.

Coffee, lukewarm and settled, waits
For my untouched lips, listless, still.
The truck’s restless moan
Eats my morning like a worm

Through soft wood. The sky
Undressed from its night
Reveals itself in small, geometric shapes
Between buildings. In the window across

Behind half-closed shades
A man walks then bends
Quick to lift — a blanket? A single
Shoe thrown behind the sofa?—

And disappears. The day is white
And unannouncing, an ocean
Of loud sounds, waking then breaking
Onto the city streets. A lover sleeps

Spread like a starfish at the edge
Of this town—dreaming a childish
Dream, breathing a childish breath—sour and
New, sex a wave of hard then

Soft, then hard again—my only homing.

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