House Remembers

 House remembers three
ungainly children, greedy
for sweets, toys, attention.
House is shyly proud
of a sunken living room, rosewood basement,
Louvre shutters a yard once
resplendent
in the days

when Master tended,
gently ruling, placating a morose
wife with woes unending.

Your Life or Mine

 In the end,
the end has come and gone.
Is this your 
life or mine?
Will you defend
the atrocities unending
or are you able
to condemn
cheap questions sent
by proxy unrepented?

such

 such simplicity
reminds us, no, presses us
up. flush. against the wall
of history.
all of you who
have died
I will (re)join you
even if only 
according to the dividing
line: living-line-dead.
There you have it
or not.
I'm a meaningless person,
but even  I understand
the arrogance of Absolute.

 Confessions are cheap,
be they sincere or not.
How will you end
your puny life?
Will it be swept away majestically?
Oh, sweet heart, unlikely.
Once I had
a Mother and a Father,
two good folk
who kindahadtoloveme.
And now? And now?
I am the quintessential
Neanderthal Girl
who lost everything
while questing Something.
Post Script:
If you think your death is consequential,
think again, non-friend,
think a

gain.

Geography Unknown

 no one visits
their ancestors anymore.
Ghosts don't lie,
or do they?
Why must we choose
each time: Israeli or Palestinian
Jewish or Muslim?
Dead or Alive?
We are the half-and-halfs,
the quarterlies, the fly by nights
the eternal refugees.

Team Other

 You
who would be clean
I accuse You
of being
just like all the rest:

one of us
or not one
of us but a member
of Team Other
Friend/Enemy
in the end,
it's all the same:
Living, Dying
in your own
small bubble,
You  struggle;
you blame.

 I confess
I am insect,

no more, no

less.

Like a baby

born in Lodz

1943 my

life carries

no consequence.

Who among us

is loved, truly loved?

Your pet cat?

your intruder, Rat?

Lice-infested,

shit crusted

your inmate,

your timeless scapegoat

Your Yid, your nemesis.

All is well

in NaziVille.

The vigilantes are hunting;

the victims are chanting.

God

is the Master

of Cruelty,

or

if god does not exist

and magic is not alive

then surely

those who must avenge

will avenge

with weapons of  fog and dust

with—

with—

fabric that bends

and longing that never ends.