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The Web Poetry Corner - Philip Claude Andermann - Fire of Roots

Fire of Roots


Philip Claude Andermann

The number
tattooed on the now Australian
taxi driver's arm. "Yes, Auschwitz." Heavy
accent. Nine years old. One
thead of the evil
net silencing my parents, cast red
hot upon memories naked pink
limbless to escape. 1932, two votes cast - Berlin.

That afternoon I screamed
why did Hitler kill six million Jews
in the cafe two neighbors animatedly
exchanging German within a second
rose and left. The swastikas - scribbled tattoos -
all over my school walls walls surrounding hiding
cutting all roots, of forest of dancing still singing
relatives mowed down, burnt down and escaping
the walls as "snow" that night all my roots ran red staining
rivers of fire under the sheets of memory
of that volcano...
..Released at last
within... to call out freely

..I bow
now at every life quilted
in every color of tattered
hapless hopes covering tattoos.
I grow roots across the phone lines.
"Number please." I call
everywhere for peace.

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