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MICHELLE M. TOKARCZYK Warszawa NotesI When they speak to me they know I am Polonia, That I will not be able to pronounce certain consonant combinations to comprehend the scars of their history. But I have repeated phrases until my mouth memorized their shapes. I have driven my mind into black and white photographs of a city dynamited apart. One building, the next, the next Warszawa must be destroyed. A city leveled. A city cremated. A people who, after years of war and hunger and fear of so much worse came home to rubble and ashes. Year after year, hand after hand, rebuilt a city of homes. 2 My lens is my own city the moistness in my eyes. We have never been occupied never bowed our heads while enemy flags flied. But where I live bullets fly; our eyes bounce corners in fear. We bolt our doors, locking out the night. Where I live bodies crumble on streetcorners, they cannot ask for home so they beg quarters, curse silence. Where I live gutted buildings shelter dealers. Addicts shoot or smoke or snort a high. Just a few hours. Just a few minutes. One told me "Drugs kill the hunger pains." 3 When they speak to me they know I am Polonia, That I may not know the genesis, the history of Solidarnosz. My lens is my own language "...unity...cooperation shared responsibility..." My lens is my own city, our own rubble, our history. Copyright 2006, all rights retained by the poet |
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CHERYL J. FISH TasklessGrandfather, in the 92nd year walking is a luxury yet you still write responses to what you"ve read Ask for my presence, not there enough when every day is a blessing. Weeks go by and tasks pile up; yet you remain nearly taskless. And how many hours will I stay? We pour over your three plays. I can"t read Yiddish and you forgot the themes. Of the Lodz trade union members, you alone remain. You heard Rosa Luxemburg speak in Berlin-- Why haven"t you told me before? What has become of the Left? We recall and reconstruct, you needn"t worry but must. Hands stiff, mind steady. Still. Won"t forget how the past dictates-- you heard her and later she was murdered. Didn"t you know I would want to hear? You only tell me now when I have asked When I prove I know of this legacy. Then, questions appear as answers, alive and already gone. Copyright 2006, all rights retained by the poet |
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MICHELLE M. TOKARCZYK An American Thinks of Auschwitz and Personal ResponsibilityYes, I knew about it. How could I not? Everyday I saw them, bundles of rags begging life, waiting death. The stench was a cloud so thick I clenched my teeth against it. I knew--and I know right from wrong. No, I never believed those awful things people said. I never even disliked them, really, never thought about them. Until their breathing carcasses filled the trains, terminals, sidewalks-- every place I tried to move hands goaded "spare a dollar...a quarter." Some eyes seared through the refusal they knew I would make. What did I do for them? What could I do? You say I had nothing to fear But I had my own job, my own family to protect. worked long, then longer hours. Things cost so much. Then so much more. I kept hoping it would get easier, better. Maybe I could find a way. Someone would find a way for them too. And I hurt no one, whatever I felt, my brisk paces and closed pockets hurt no one. Copyright 2006, all rights retained by the poet |
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