by Ilya Kaminsky
Embers
Three years old,
I’m in a garden
in the middle of Rectory Square.
The embers in remembers
keep the memory warm.
Then, escape from the Blitz
in a taxi, lit by flares
snagged on bombed-out buildings.
For the embers in remembers
are stirred by the war in warm.
Our new house is quite empty,
except for a black grate;
red brick’s replaced by pebbledash.
have still not turned to ash.
My mother’s eyes
and cheeks are glowing.
Now, she is content.
Alas, the embers in remembers
are almost spent:
the Junkers drone above again,
relief soon turns to fear.
Huddled by the staircase,
the embers in remembers
recall her warm embrace.
It was published a few years ago by The Shoestring Press, Nottingham, UK. It describes my earliest childhood memory.
This is tender and heartbreaking, Tony. I especially appreciate the use of rhymes refrains, which makes the subject matter feel even more chaotic. Well done!
Embers
Three years old,
I’m in a garden
in the middle of Rectory Square.
The embers in remembers
keep the memory warm.
Then, escape from the Blitz
in a taxi, lit by flares
snagged on bombed-out buildings.
For the embers in remembers
are stirred by the war in warm.
Our new house is quite empty,
except for a black grate;
red brick’s replaced by pebbledash.
The embers in remembers
have still not turned to ash.
My mother’s eyes
and cheeks are glowing.
Now, she is content.
Alas, the embers in remembers
are almost spent:
the Junkers drone above again,
relief soon turns to fear.
Huddled by the staircase,
the embers in remembers
recall her warm embrace.
It was published a few years ago by The Shoestring Press, Nottingham, UK. It describes my earliest childhood memory.
This is tender and heartbreaking, Tony. I especially appreciate the use of rhymes refrains, which makes the subject matter feel even more chaotic. Well done!