One by one – husband, lovers, friends
Wrote, slicing truths wafer thin
From turds of brute lies – courage
Incised by knives. Every turn
Free handed. Each a gift placed high
In the glacial air. The planed voices
Subtle. Move in plaintiff songs
Toned clearly but softly to despair.
Death - quick as Lysol.
One by one executed, exiled,
Inched forward to suicide
Or madness. Grief came in storms
And in the lulling places, silence.
Survivors met, embracing, there.
Furtive the writing the hiding.
In memory. Like Akhmatova, done
Until no one was left. No one.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem