a Journal of Poetry and the Arts
Individual Voices / Natural Forms
Dream of the Uninterrupted Moss
I remember holding on to words
spoken in cafes now closed to us.
The words live inside
my blue delft breakfast plate
along the river Ijissle
in the white chrysanthemums
in the peculiar innocence
In a little tin are my last cookies.
Next door a boy is born
and lives in a drawer.
My paper supplies dwindle,
but I could give up words.
The sky is always ours,
even though we are crowded together.
Someday, I will walk across the world.
-----For Anne Frank and Etty Hillesum