Poetry Porch: Poetry


by Barbara Siegel Carlson

             There is nothing but a spiritual world. —Kafka

In a needlepoint you named the Ninevah Gardens
I saw only faint lines, the curve
of your hand underneath.
The raindrops are all connected
like embroidery thread on the other side.
People in Pliny’s time believed
we were born from the dew.
Each November all the abandoned nests
become visible. The seagull is screaming
but no sound comes out. Why
is the smallest particle called God?
My grandfather remembered the ringing
of the bells before every pogrom.
After he went deaf the bells kept ringing.

Copyright © 2011 by Barbara Siegel Carlson.