Multicultural Intergenerational Jewish Journal

HAMACA Aurora Levin-Morales We twist the threads of our days into string, knot it into nets, so the unneeded falls through to the ground, and spines curved like nested birds, we swing between two trees. Hamaca, we said to el invasor and soon we were filling their ships with hammocks, a contagion of rest. When I enter the half-moon embrace of cotton, let go of steady and trade it for sway, rock back and forth with the rhythmic shifting of my mass, like a child pumping a swing, it dawns on me that this is effortless davening, immersed without ritual words in my Arawak shabbat.