Night of the Broken Glass, Revisited
Germany, 1938:
The doves fell
one by one
(and good people said nothing)
then by the millions.
A generation said never again:
Dante's new circle would be
safely locked behind
museum glass
but out of the tar pits
of our worst memories, a
new Phoenix, zombie-eyed
and screeching with
rabid pride,
finds its day.
Their torches reliving
the night sanity died,
the ghosts of brown shirts
are oozing from the graves,
splitting one soul into
us and them,
we and the other.
The spawn of the fuhrer
and hypnotized legions
in lockstep,
their boots a drumbeat,
music of the damned,
live again
and what we decided
was right and wrong
is now tangled up in
new debates.
And the doves fall
one by one.
And good people say nothing.
Patricia Joan Jones
To read more of my work go to: My Poetry List
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Night of the Broken Glass, Revisited
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