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