FAMILY STORY (1945)

Great grandmother died boiling 

coffee, grinder’s handle silky, 

she fell to the floor without a word

dark snow mixed in white hair.

Grandmother given away at four 

to a barren woman, a store full of bread.

My mother in the earth cellar

a mountain of dirty seed-potatoes

her job in the cold hole to remove

the sprouts, those seeing eyes

wishing to grow into light. 

A man running through the forest

clanging a big cow bell. The war, he

shouts. The war is over. Kriget är

slut! Fred! Fred! Peace as last! My

mother stares up at him, asking

What war?

PUBLISHED IN THE AMERICAN JOURNAL OF POETRY

JANUARY 12, 2022, VOLUME TWELVE