A rowboat sits
In the middle of a marsh
With so many seagulls
It’s as if it’s snowing
My words feel less than insufficient.
It is so beautiful here.
The golden green
Tall stalks of grass
Populated with perfectly
Quaint men and women
And the path leads
to a break
Which leads to the water
That will sustain me
With the choppy memories
Of my peoples history.
There are fishermen
By the side of the river.
I wonder if they drove Jews from here
With hatred or with accomplice
With malice and a fever
Cows and chicks
Eat from the lush countryside
And drink from the flowing waters
This bus quivers
Over the cobblestone road
As it trembles
Beneath the weight
Of a past paved over and
Washed ashore.