You joined Hitler’s Youth
at twelve, swore to hate Jews,
love the Aryan race only.
From the cradle taught to fear
Germans, I parroted words
cheering their destruction.
A lifetime later, with your cane
you draw a map on Carolina soil,
two points—Berlin, Paris.
So close we were, same hopscotch,
Cinderella dreaming, furtively
we listened to ‘decadent jazz.’
Your cane draws rivers, towns,
names of battles where our own
inflicted undue carnage.
Best friends we might have been
telling adults no, to hatred,
yearning to play with all children.
A ladybug, minus a wing lands
on your arm, I reach,
gentle, you say, gentle.
The fat goose who no longer
flies waddles by erasing
your map, she pecks my hand.
We share Merlot, knockwursts,
Jewish rye, toast a fine
day for all living things.
