The town where my grandfather Max grew up
Was, after the bombs, the fires and the exterminations,
Allowed to have a sort of life on condition
That it take an assumed name and change
The street names too. (The river is still permitted
To go on calling itself The Bug but must
Report to the authorities every two months.)
It is not an easy place to live. Street signs
Daren't use the old names but fade to illegibility
Within days of being put up. Occasionally
A pile of rubble will insist it's still a building
And start accepting tenants. Ghosts in these times
Flood in from places where things are even worse.
The odds are that you cannot travel to this town now
But if your dreams bring you there take a moment
To give my regards to the ghost of my Great Aunt Irina
At 6 Zebro Stolowe Street, Apartment C.
If she's in a good mood she'll play you something
On the memory of her violin. (According to her sister
Irina had an uncertain temper and a rough tongue
But her music made her welcome everywhere.)
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