May 06

Nomad Land

Corie Feiner

inspired by a installation by Merav Ezer


The wooden slats I call
shelter are a thatch, a barn,
a quiet cross over my heart.

A needle can be the difference
between a padding of straw
blocking the rain over my head,
and wandering.

Do you know the expression
about home?

Let me just say this.

I weave my hands
into a roof and move on.

I hang my iron pan
on a nail and follow
the path of my mind.

Ask god to dry my earthen floor.


You have it wrong.
We nomads are always

Our search is not like the search
for a child who fallen inside of the
toothless earth.

Our search is like
a smell. It pulls itself
up from the ground
lingers, and becomes


Come climb my tower
and listen to the ghost of

I have always wanted
to wake up inside of the sky.

Salvage pipe, steel pole,
concrete, sea shells,
found bottles.

Nothing can knock
me down.


This new world is made
of heavy posts, beam frames,
wooden nails, wattle, and daub.

The first thing I learned
to do here is steal a piece
of dirt and call it land.

The only thing to remind me
of who I am is my stove.


Be it ever so humble…


There is no way to prevent
a wall from wandering.

Without a roof,
the poles want to
cross their legs
and dance with the

Who can blame them
for wanting to go home?


Make your window
from a tar barrel.

Remember, our first shelter
was the sky


My landscape is how
I choose to live.

The most essential
ingredient is fire.

All else is possible.


Image: "28B Bezalel St. #9" Installation,1995 detail by Leor Grady