In The Poetry

During the War

When my brother came home from war
he carried his left arm in a black sling
but assured us most of it was still there.
Spring was late, the trees forgot to leaf out.

I stood in a long line waiting for bread.
The woman behind me said it was shameless,
someone as strong as I still home, still [...]

In 1965, I lived in Spain, very close to what was there called the ‘abbatoir’ – the slaughterhouse. And I used to see animals driven to the slaughterhouse. Not driven in trucks, but driven on the ground – they walked. And they seemed somehow to anticipate something good wasn’t waiting for them. [...]