Bones and Borders

Bones & Borders

Yugoslavia: 1942.
A villa with its roses shot
like babies still in diaper shrouds.
Ice baths of a river's colon
could not stop the stand you swam.
Treading water in the Nile
with alligator penniless.
Your servants felled by rifle fire--
broken candles, bowling pins.
In the “land of the free”
you were pocket change,
but courage was your coat of arms.
Every gift you made or chose
had history woven it its seams.

You traded wealth for justice clouds.
Crossed the border in the night.
Sipping poor was broken glass.
Exchanging bricks for raw, raw clay.
The dribble of a legend flounders
held in hands you crossed for “right.”
Broken English on your tongue;
a heart intact in every way.
The vigil was embracing life--
you cupped its cheeks and held it close.
The “wrong” is how you suffered cold
from those who thought themselves above.
A Yugoslav--a dignitary in your land.
Here, you were a mailman
who brought the need for freedom home.

Janet I. Buck

Posted over on Ariga