Germany

 A SONNET

A child’s tapestry, I remember 

I doused it with gasoline, 

Burned it—ashes meant to be forgiven; 

Under the forgiveness growled remorse

That should have been soft snow of December 

Dancing, swirling, kissing my face; 

“Baby,” they called me—I was three; 

And, I mistook those dogs for some horses. 

 

In the dense, cream-colored snow, they beckoned 

Lightly, only gazing from a distance; 

All around me, an enclosure 

So high, my legs dangled, mercy. Of course, 

 

It still resonates, and I shiver 

At the recollection of me, hidden. 

✴✴✴