It Is a Rose Sprung
es ist ein 'Rose' entsprungen
Just outside the city walls ringed in roses,
Rosenfriedhof, Rose Cemetery blooms,
fairest in the Fatherland.
Leaven cakes iced in concrete or royal brass
pan the gravel paths; the husks which lie here,
no longer have a care, no longer wish for power,
no longer seek false glory. Yet, even blest ground
can not stay the rancid thoughts that rise—
sewer fumes amongst the roses.
ashes, ashes, we all fall down
Plagued by ignorance, then by pride, as supplicants
they came to death and lay, side by side,
and someone planted roses.
Open-petaled, lotus-like, sweet-scented, are the
posies, but nothing alive can mask the grotesqueri
of Nuremberg’s past purges.
ashes, ashes, they all fell down
The ring of sieg heil, the click of heels, the Fatherland
an ever present reverie, latent, just below the sugared
crust; the piping swirled, the surface glaze
of pretty roses.
First Published in Page & Spine winter of 2016
Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2016
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