H
O
M
E

P
O
E
T
R
Y

J
O
H
N

G
U
Z
L
O
W
S
K
I

T
H
E

S
C
R
E
A
M

O
N
L
I
N
E

 

 

Pigeons

My father dreams of pigeons,
their souls, their thin cradles
of bone, but it is their luck

he admires most. A boy in Poznan
in a dawn all orange and pinks,
his hands opened like a saint's

and taught those birds to fly, to rise
on the air, their wings beating
the rooftops into flesh, into dreams

of angels above the crystal trees.
And later in the gray dawn clouds
blowing about him in the camps,

where not even pigeons were safe,
where his body, thin then,
like a shoelace, sought other dreams

other bodies, and found only
the comfort of worms—even then

he could still remember

the birds without chains,
breathing quickly and cooing
"We are going, we are going."

 

©1999 John Guzlowski

Back to John Guzlowski main page

TOPThe ScreamOnline Home Page