Tuesday, April 20, 2010

Poems by my mother, Ursula Lukas Slavick

Found these old poems by my mother on one of my external hard drives today.


Bright red hair, dishevelled,
face covered with freckles,
eyes closed.
He was lying so still
in the gutter by the house,
eyes closed.
A green blanket
up to his chin,
shiny, black boots
stick out below.
No more than nineteen,
red-haired and freckled,
eyes closed.
A pool of blood on his left,
a brown stain on the blanket.

His closed eyes
never saw the defeat
he dared to mention.


White arrow
on stucco
camouflaged shit-brown
points downward
to a small square window

In our cellar
we huddle
-- the second air raid that night --
the bunker
to be built by Russian prisoners of war
not yet ready

My father
my mother
my brother, home from the front on furlough,
holds me tight
The arrow
indicates the window
through which we are to be pulled to safety
should a bomb destroy our house
and debris block doors

The arrow
a symbol of safety
points to a window
too small
for my father
my mother
my brother
but large enough for me

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