Walking through Kazimierz, they vibrate in 
and out of sight, Avraam, and Jankel, Miriam 

and Sarah—evaporating past corners and through 
building walls brushed four hundred years ago 

with Renaissance mint, rose, and cream. 
The murdered leave a gritty humidity 

coating every pore, cremains an undercoat 
for each pastel façade seventy thousand in toto. 

The old town is a lithesome blond left chaste, 
intact from Allies, Nazis, and Russians. 

Six synagogues stand, remnants of the old-growth 
culture that once filled the quarter—one remains alive. 

Graffiti tags the walls and doors of some. At least 
nothing says, Juden, raus. Or does it? 

Polish escapes me, I can barely pronounce Zloty. 

Museums recap World War Two, the Anschluss, 
then the Blitzkrieg of Poland, then, oh yeah, 

a small bit about the murdered three million. 

I enter an antique store and leave with a kiddush 
cup and mezuzah from the ’30s. Their cries faint, 

and I know this is one rescue I can perform. 

It is late August, and the fields, even vacant lots, are 
filled with flowers—red poppies, purple clover, 

and yellow daisies, spectres whose only language is beauty. 

Gary Grossman

enjoys sharing his work, which has appeared in 80+ literary journals and reviews. He enjoys running, music, fishing, and gardening. His poetry collections Objects in Mirror May Be Closer Than They Appear (Arroyo Seco Press, 2025), Lyrical Years (Kelsay Books, 2023), and What I Meant to Say Was... (Impspired Press, 2023), and his graphic memoir My Life in Fish: One Scientist’s Journey (Impspired Press, 2023) are all available from Amazon or from the author.

Author’s website: https://www.garygrossman.net/