November
Elaine Seehafer









You who wrap your arms around us
With your fog like branches
enveloping limbs and torso
Under sheets of dreams that waken
floodgates of stirred memory
where choices are made forever.

The month of the Holy Souls we call it
so we can only be born in it or die in it
but not live in it

Where coffins are carried to graves with lilies on them
Or we commemorate the breaking glass of time
Where crystal broke like shattered hearts to carry
bodies to other graves in Auschwitz or Dachau or Lublin.

Or we turn 18 on the 16th and celebrate a life worth living
With no roots and no compass to guide us
A month of biting pain and frosted toenails
Of departures and sorrows to other planes
Is it no wonder that in November we seek bones under sheets of white lace
And bury our dreams in the coffins of time?


Elaine Seehafer has written several short poems relating to her time in Germany and beyond. This poem relates to synchronicity, reincarnation, the Night of Broken Glass and the wandering souls of the month of November.



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