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More poems by Lisel MuellerLisel Mueller | Print this page.Print | View and Write CommentsComments | Books by Lisel MuellerBooks by Lisel Mueller

Blood Oranges

Lisel Mueller

In 1936, a child
in Hitler's Germany,
what did I know about the war in Spain?
Andalusia was a tango
on a wind-up gramophone,
Franco a hero's face in the paper.
No one told me about a poet
for whose sake I might have learned Spanish
bleeding to death on a barren hill.
All I knew of Spain
were those precious imported treats
we splurged on for Christmas.
I remember pulling the sections apart,
lining them up, sucking each one
slowly, so the red sweetness
would last and last --
while I was reading a poem
by a long-dead German poet
in which the woods stood safe
under the moon's milky eye
and the white fog in the meadows
aspired to become lighter than air. 

Added: 2 Mar 2002 | Last Read: 23 Apr 2018 12:03 AM | Viewed: 6100 times

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URL: http://plagiarist.com/poetry/3128/ | Viewed on 22 April 2018.
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