I still wear her shawl
hand knitted
gravel-toned
not an item
I'd buy in a shop
but it's so Mrs. Saks
lamb soft
under many layers
of crusty chill
she'd have it on
standing all of
five feet tall
hands on her hips
peering sharply
down her steep drive
her wooden hut
buried in rambling thorns
of isolation
I'd ask about her life
in the old country
for her as if yesterday
in broken English
she'd tell of the scenes
that bitter day
I'd make notes
to write that essay
so people see
her checklist
sharp as martensite
toughened steel
of mountain fire
fathers and sons
picked off
mothers' wails
silenced
made to look
their babies smashed
screaming in shallow soil
as soldiers laughed
hyenas glibly stealing
a people's jewels
not seeing
the core
lived on
still
Jul 27, 2019
Jul 27, 2019 at 6:42 AM UTC
I still wear her shawl
hand knitted
gravel-toned
not an item
I'd buy in a shop
but it's so Mrs. Saks
lamb soft
under many layers
of crusty chill
she'd have it on
standing all of
five feet tall
hands on her hips
peering sharply
down her steep drive
her wooden hut
buried in rambling thorns
of isolation
I'd ask about her life
in the old country
for her as if yesterday
in broken English
she'd tell of the scenes
that bitter day
I'd make notes
to write that essay
so people see
her checklist
sharp as martensite
toughened steel
of mountain fire
fathers and sons
picked off
mothers' wails
silenced
made to look
their babies smashed
screaming in shallow soil
as soldiers laughed
hyenas glibly stealing
a people's jewels
not seeing
the core
lived on
still
