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Array
(
[sid] => 29670
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => To an Unknown Girl in Auschwitz
[time] => 2003-12-18 13:40:06
[hometext] =>
[bodytext] => To an Unknown Girl in Auschwitz Who are you who make your way among the crowds? You, Two Six Nine Five Three You, the Flower of Jewry proud, erect, with neck of ivory with noble skull adorned, seen in paintings, overseen in passing unless caringly observed. Graceful your footsteps your warm fingers soft that have not yet caressed a new-born or cushioned the lover's head from loving spent. Your forehead high above dark pools wherein burn radiant eyes, and your imperious nose. You are the Waiting One who would open the door when he comes looking among the fair for his beloved. You are the Yearned For, You are the Evening Star, You are the Winter Rose, You are the Treasure of Gold, You are the Bearer of Life, You are the Autumn Harvest, You are everything desired. He will look in every bower will search the lions' lairs no latch undone, no hinge unswung until he finds you. But you have awakened before dawn have made your way in darkness scenting his nearness, drawn, done with watching, to fullness, home, place of rest where waiting ends where union quenches thirst. He is closer now than visions clung to nights through, or anticipation groveling your love-sick heart. Are you hearing his voice, your tilted head rushing in his direction? Are you about to enter on a banquet prepared? Is that you reclining in fruits from his trees, cushioned in down, watching twirling columns of incense while waiting for his entrance? Does he see you coming, you, so intent in his direction? Stands he there behind some board, some cleft in a wall? What is he saying? What words trickle into your heart? Is he promising a time, a month, a season? Or is it room, hearth, or cell- like oriels make hanging, a flaxen purse, deep in foliage hidden where union takes place? Name the highest your heart imagines. Is it home? Is it mountain made of acceptance, understanding? Oh, this questioning but muddies the clear brook of thoughtless pursuit. Go, lift your beauty to him. Now all convention, all words recede. There is no fetter. You are beyond wedded, law, sanction. All is accord and light. In this garden He has found you, here where fruit is falling. You are running now, lightly, faunlike. But He, too, is in motion and in nearing catches you up sidelong, longing, in His embrace. from: Auschwitz Poems [comments] => 3 [counter] => 216 [topic] => 2 [informant] => Charles [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 25 [ratings] => 5 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => LovePoetry )
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