Born There

I was born there, there between the grey days and ghostly nights. I came out of the warm cave fully encased with my mother's sadness. The ghetto walls moved in or out inch by crawling inch, they were a mirage, but they remained in our eyes as forever impenetrable. I still dream of it, in that nightmare, the buildings are too close together, too full of bricked-up holes. The narrow streets leading to no roads. Sometimes, I find in the rubble of a derelict building, a tin wind-up manikin, its painted form flaking, yet its eyes blink in the sunlight as I carry it away.