Lagerstrasse, Dachau

The Lagerstrasse is the shortest street I know,

the longest street I live.

 

After the night rain I hear the crickets,

the dogs growling, the screams.

I am very, very hungry.

 

In Schwabing, I often strolled

down Leopoldstrasse, licking an Italian Eis    

past the cafes, the poplars greeting me

like summer friends. 

 

But in this camp

the poplars flanking the Lagerstrasse

do not recognize me,

though we march past them every morning,

every day growing thinner, the music louder,

till we disappear in the gravel dust. 

 

Author's Note

Published in NEW TEXAS (1995).

Reviews

[Laerrus]

I liked the subtlety of this very much, delicately referencing the ugly reality. Powerful and beautifully written.