Numbered

A painted smile speaks and constant
are the fingers circling where a ring should be.

I fear cold. Loud wind takes me there.
Back to Canada. You know.
It happened don’t you?

The veins in her arms are like ladders propped
against her  heart. And although she would not deny
herself things to make her happy there are times
she wishes she had been in that room, done more
than just hear the hum of dying bees.

Hunched it seems his spine has collapsed
as sparks rise up as they did when he raked the grate.

The bees.  My ears are full of bees.
They never stop. They won’t ever stop. You know.
I am not responsible. Don’t you?

The imprint on his arm reads as a synopsis.
So much to stay alive: A tray of gold.
A hank of hair. A sea of shoes. A dead man’s bowl.
Too ill to swallow anymore, he assumes
that ink spells no absolution.

© 2015

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10 thoughts on “Numbered

  1. No, it’s not ok. You see, i’m presented like an antisemitic guy by you. That is far from the truth,I am not going to give you one of ,, My best friend is a Jew” or ” My grandpa was a WW2 fighter against the axis” speeches, but before giving me any information about my country’s history, google Macedonia -Israel relations. “The Jewish organizations of Macedonia have expressed on several occasions that there is no antisemitism in Macedonia.” Thank you.

  2. Back with a vengeance, aren’t you Talia? Love to see your words. Something about “back to Canada” really caught me in this, but overall vibe out of this poem is vaguely terrifying.

  3. “The imprint on his arm reads as a synopsis..”
    “Hunched it seems his spine has collapsed
    as sparks rise up as they did when he raked the grate.”

    No one ever said life is fair, but you show it at its most brutal in this poem.
    The Holocaust is a blot on humanity. That it could happen indicts the whole world.
    This is a powerful poem about an horrific event that must never be forgotten.

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