..
--And out of this young forcing soil what growth may come--
what amazing blossomings.
Anna is different.
One is always aware of Anna, and the young men turn their heads
to look at her.
She has the appeal of a folk-song
And her cheap clothes are always in rhythm.
When the strike was on she gave half her pay.
She would give anything--save the praise that is hers
And the love of her lyric body.
But Sarah's desire covets nothing apart.
She would share all things...
Even her lover.
III
The sturdy Ghetto children
March by the parade,
Waving their toy flags,
Prancing to the bugles--
Lusty, unafraid...
Shaking little fire sticks
At the night--
The old blinking night--
Swerving out of the way,
Wrapped in her darkness like a shawl.
But a small girl
Cowers apart.
Her braided head,
Shiny as a black-bird's
In the gleam of the torch-light,
Is poised as for flight.
Her eyes have the glow
Of darkened lights.
She stammers in Yiddish,
But I do not understand,
And there flits across her face
A shadow
As of a drawn blind.
I give her an orange,
Large and golden,
And she looks at it blankly.
I take her little cold hand and try to draw her to me,
But she is stiff...
Like a doll...
Suddenly she darts through the crowd
Like a little white panic
Blown along the night--
Away from the terror of oncoming feet...
And drums rattling like curses in red roaring mouths.
Pages:
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26