photo by L. Honig


by L. Honig

permission to leave was granted
after the appropriate delays
the Bureau issued papers on the tenth
but he had already died

oh children of brooklyn
which contains his name
what can you know of the widow
russia, his widow

Fleeing, they come first who bring
nothing but memories
the reek of garlic and fat in kitchens
so strange in a new world
and the following generation builds, and forgets
Now to the third I speak
where nothing but now matters
to whom nothing but now can even be imagined

Do you think to erase history?
the chains and chains of grandfathers
the weeping of women down the centuries
the tribes and the firstborn and the famines and the wars
they who only knew time

and now you cry, this life matters, that one
know that it is not the life
but only black that matters


L. Honig left White Plains, NY, when he was 16. Sometimes he goes back for a visit.