Displaced, or, On Reading Sacco

A bedside mirror stood forlorn
By the building entrance.
The hot sun beat down
And I was plunging into ice-cold
Water, as I walked on.
The pages turned themselves,
As I flitted from ’38
To ’56: Gestapo to Israeli.
There is an Eid,
To remember Abraham’s sacrifice
But where is the Book for this Age?
As we feed and grow,
On the wails of the greiving,
As we learn, like ants, to forget
A bedside mirror stands
Forlorn, by the building entrance.

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