Poetry and Poetics
The glass ink bottle blossoms black, eerily.
Jewish kids in milk-city mid-century
we learnt our Brahms bent over keys
the language of the enemy
the ground in Europe still smoking,
but this was music.
Our mirror images
in Poland, Germany were
photographs burned, match-lit, disembodied:
then features eaten up one-by-one by flame. This was evil, the
Smoke children took shape
sculpted by flame & wind.
© by Lynn Strongin
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