My New Neighbour, the Jewish Cemetery
By Andrzej Slomianowski
You’re going again!
Where?
Stop! Wait a minute...
Let’s talk...
A whisper – a male voice
like a tired hand on my shoulder.
On the second or third day
in the new place,
in Görlitz,
going for a walk,
I pass a grilled gate
on Biesnitzer Strasse.
The voice, whispering
like a forest, comes from the left,
from behind the gate.
You write, I know.
Don’t ask where from.
I know, I know, I know, I know...
I know everything.
You write poems. Enter here
and write about them.
Here lies Emma, there Ida,
and Julius over there... Rosalie
and Ernestine lie a bit farther up.
Write about those
three hundred twenty three
murdered
in Concentration Camp
Biesnitzer Grund,
not far away from here.
There they lie, on the other side.
Today I can’t – I say.
I must go now. But I’ll come back.
I’ll write. I’ve got my worries.
What are your worries... – whispers
my new neighbour, the Jewish Cemetery.
Andrzej Slomianowski, at and9slom9@aol.com, a well-known Polish poet. This is his first appearance in Ariga.
Visit his web site at: www.slomianowski.pl
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