the evidence he left
after he died, I wandered the stacks to find
asterisks penciled over seven letter words
in the Miriam Webster
the faintest lines under verses
from Stevens and Michaux
a tuft of his salt and pepper hair
between psalm 120 and 121
a splotch of ink from his Santo de Cartier
on an old world map of Europe
bookmarks in prewar novels
worn thin as tissue
highlighter stains on the binding
of Anne Frank’s Diary
his Flemish notation in the margins
of Polish folk tales
I fell asleep on a bed of books, a pile of ash
Annuals annals
Winter pre nazi Europe
a sunken glacier
Spring the old world melted
out of its slumber
Summer another book burned
on American soil
Fall the colors faded, crushed
by military boots
Winter history has frozen over
wars trapped in ice
Spring memory flourished
cherry blossoms dropped
Summer forgetting burned
the evidence
Fall the swastikas decomposed
devoured by mushrooms
Winter flags pierced, the blizzard
purpled the soles of soldiers
Spring our grandmothers rose from their graves
ran home from Kew Garden Hills
Summer the ghetto trapped them
in a furnace
Fall history books rose from the ashes
sparks fell on the sidewalks
Winter their tombstones stood alone
buried in an avalanche of prayers
Spring the towers they built of roses
turned to brambles
Summer Jerusalem smiled on high
its resting place, the sun
Fall they cried out for the holy land
stacked corpses in the bunkers
Winter their ashes fell like asterisks
dusting our bodies with snow
Spring the chimneys burst forth
with wildflowers
Summer chambers full of light
blue with flame
Fall the leaves disappeared
the trees disappeared
コメント