The Hook of History

Under the guise of alcohol I grow charming and unrecognizable.
One numbness is not as good as another. My heart diluted with ice.

The past arrives with its staple gun and rusted alphabet.
Flinch and fill in the watery blanks.

Nazis chase my grandmother until she dies. Nazis chase my mother in her sleep.
In her sleep, her mother cries through her mouth.

The Museum of Nostalgia. The Museum for the Extinction of Nostalgia.
The Museum of Natural History.

Newspapers mindlessly blow around the ruins of Mike’s Café.
Starlings hunt for crumbs among cobblestones.

The walls of the Shalom Hotel blink from pink to paper white.
Ghosts of women sing in the stairwells through mottled lips.

In the morning, suffering circles itself and repeats.
Children in the courtyard scream and scream, and there is joy in this.