Zaida In The Wheat Field
Zaida In The Wheat Field
Inspired by a poem by Lois Barr, after I told her a story about my grandfather:
Woodcut of a Field of Wheat
It’s an old family story.
Who knows if it is true,
but sometimes when I nap,
I dream of skies of blue
of the smell of pine,
the taste of grass
and stalks of red, red wheat.
In the town there was a cheder,
there was a butcher, a tailor.
Our family ran the lumber yard
and sometimes when I nap
I smell the sap of wood.
There was a round-faced boy
whose voice sweetly chanted
his aliyah. A boy with fuzz
on his arms, legs and cheeks.
One sabbath morning soldiers
on horseback surrounded the shul
locked the doors and lit a fire.
Glass shattered. Men ran to the fields.
Cossacks followed in swift pursuit.
Wherever they saw the tall grains
move, they rammed their swords.
Over and over
sharp blades reaped
the lives of villagers,
but one fell asleep.
The round-faced boy
dreamt of blue skies and pine.
He dreamt of fields of wheat
and when he awoke
only birds cawed overhead.
The Cossacks were gone
and the fields ran red.
It’s an old family story
Who knows if it is true,
but sometimes when I nap,
I dream of skies of blue
of the smell of pine,
the taste of grass
and stalks of red, red wheat.
Lois Baer Barr, 9/19/17
Printed by artist on Takach press, 20” x 16”. Small edition, up to 25 prints. Numbered and signed by artist.