Poetry, Vol. 2.3, Sept. 2008
Hitler cut off her right thumb during the war.
She was born in Slovenia.
It is buried in Lancovo, with the other narrow-waisted blades.
She had a twin sister who died at birth.
It occurred to me that Christmas trees are ugly and our child will grow up without one.
This sentence might not be true but it is necessary, like pairing lessons with history.
We watch her barter with the doctor who is not young but has two thumbs.
We watch her trade in blood-thinners and diuretics for morphine.
And then for three whole days and two whole nights, we watch time become painless.
When the doctor returns our grandmother speaks softly with the Slavic tongue of her youth.
We leave the room and do not watch her trade morphine for nothingness.
Tomorrow, after my sister’s daughter places an angel on her head, we will stand in obedience and light her like a museum.