· Salzbergen, Germany, 14 January 1935


Dear brother, many say it could come to war again.
The days dawn black as coal and hot with fire
from throats of little brown men with hearts of tin.
You know from your newspapers how things conspire

to make days dawn black as coal and hot with fire.
Many here are sickly because of unhealthy weather.
You know from your newspapers how things conspire.
It freezes for a couple days and we get better,

though many here are sickly because of the weather.
We haven’t had winter, no pink cheeks or snow.
It freezes for a couple of days and we get better.
No one starves much any more.  Food grows under our toes.

We haven’t had a winter, no pink cheeks or snow.
Brother Gerhard says he eats enough but other things go bad.
No one starves much any more.  Food grows around our toes,
for we’ve spiced soup with old shoe leather.  Don’t gag.

Brother Gerhard says he eats enough but other things go bad.
Elizabeth Gronefeld suffered cancer of the hand and died
just after dinner soup spiced with shoe leather.  Don’t gag.
In poverty she sickened so quick her finger fell off while she bathed.

Did I write how Elizabeth had cancer, oh yes, and died?
Her boys went down in the Great War.  Our daughters married drunks.
Elizabeth sickened so quick her finger fell off while she bathed.
I’d like to send you new year blessings, but my heart’s sunk.

All the good boys died in the war.  Our daughters married drunks
who limp, smoke too much, and curse the mustard gas.
I’d like to send you new year blessings, but my heart’s sunk.
If you were here, your sister Trilling would crawl to Sunday Mass.
                                                                                               
Our streets fester with old soldiers who curse the mustard gas.
My name in English, you say, is like a bird’s sappy song.
If you were here, I would kneel all through Sunday Mass.
“Trilling” is what birds do when they’re happy.

My name in English sounds like a bird’s sappy song.
You know from the newspapers how fire heats hearts of tin.
“Trilling” is what birds do when they’re happy.
Dear brother, many say it could come to war again.

From American Ghost Roses, University of Illinois Press, 2005.