Thoughts
on a Grey Morning in Amsterdam
(for my Mother)
The ashen morning skies
over the Prinsengracht
are thawing.
We follow in your footsteps
to Anne Frank's House
along the banks of the Herengracht
and the Keizersgracht.
I try to conjure up
the horror of death
in the the windows of the reddish houses
in Westerkerk Square
The Frank family's kitchen removed,
the intricate designs decorating the porcelain
gone, hundreds of people crammed into this secret place,
saw her writing, in the dull expectancy of the crowd,
as meeting a need for hope - Anna , your act of writing
making an international temple
of world litrerature for our time.
Less important to know through which door
you slipped out at night
on your bicycle -
a young woman's liberation
from days of four-by-four cubits,
your youth coffin
the hinterland of your hiding-place
in my veins.
Rezension I Buchbestellung I home II04 © LYRIKwelt