Berlin 1933 by Frank McMahon

I am not a silent poet

Find the glass window set in the cobbles
outside  Humboldt’s University. You’ll
need to angle your view and wait  until
the light reveals the whiteness of the empty
shelves, a void in Europe’s  heart.
Judischen, entartate: this is where
they began the burning  of the books,
flames and sparks, yellow like stars,lighting the way
to  ghettos, wagons, lines of wire, ashes, bones.

Ghosts gather, tug at your sleeve politely,
plead that you read the Book of the Dead.
Its opening page lies at your feet. Descend
to  lamentation’s rainbow.

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