A poem by Ronny Someck translated from Hebrew by Hana Inbar and Robert Manaster
Envy / Side A, Side B
I envied them, the girls who came from the wealthy neighborhood
with music folders so red and fingers that were let loose
to the piano keys of Ms. Fanny, our neighbor.
From a distance of several walls, you could hear how she begged them not
to abuse Mozart.
My father, who read all the treble clefs flashing in my eyes,
and knew that the fingers hidden in my pockets wished to mix
with the fingers of those girls, opened a wallet for me to see chasms
of emptiness
and understood the word “bread” appears in the dictionary before
the word “Mozart.”
“Tell them,” he said, “that you’re not being forced to study piano.”
I didn’t believe it, but I said it anyway.
And they, the daughters of military officers, suddenly envied
the son of a property-tax clerk who wasn’t thrown
into the battles of the Do-Re-Me.
I knew then that you need to tear the dress off the body
of the word “envy” so that everyone sees the scars of the lie
that I scorched into me,
that I scorched into her.