Footnote For A Dissertation (1)
I am revisiting my own history
as well as the history of others.
Four years ago, buying an anthology
of survivor poetry from Beth Shalom,
the hurried clink of change
as the coach waited.
Seventy years ago, the hurried clink
of wedding rings dropping
into wooden crates like loose change;
someone who did not survive turns back
to the railway tracks,
to the coach that would not wait,
his own poetry scrawled on the inside walls
with bloodied fingernails.