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Poetry

She had nothing
but eyes she hadn’t yet grown into
inside them quite by chance
two stars of David
that a tear might extinguish

so she wept

Her speech
was not silver
worth at least
some spit a turn of the head
her weeping speech
full of hunchbacked words

so she stopped speaking

Her silence
was not gold
worth at most
five groszy maybe a carrot
a very polite silence
with a Jewish accent
of hunger

so she died


The Image archive is supported in part by an award from the National Endowment for the Arts.

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