Talk About The Dead Being Born
Poem By Algimantas Mackus
Here's one place torture broke down.
I frown and am reassured
God is on our side.
Gott mit uns.
While a transcendent moonlight
plied the low window sunshine hides behind
with blunt common sense,
I set off on an eternal
honeymoon with death.
Winter surprised us:
for all the snow that fell we took no notice.
(Yes, angel, still snowing.)
Winter is the time to give birth,
while confined in a place pain wore down:
full term by chill moonglow just to take on
a feel for alien seasons.
Children who die have a need
to go on believing; don't they, angel?
Children with no more life in them
still need fairy tales, don't they?
The reserves being called in
with God on our side
are riotsquad angels.