Susan Hahn

The Scarlet Ibis, Section VII


Once, I got lost,
flew over that place,
saw the tourists in their wrinkled pastels.
The memorial between the barracks B
The bronze barbed-wire figures twisted
to torment, the wedged-shaped
building, its barred entrance,
the strip of marble extending
through a hole in the roof,
the menorah resting at the top.
I felt weak
and landed on it.
No one could believe what they saw B
me resting there B
so they pretended not to see.
I stood for much more than a moment,
watched all those bare legs
move from spot to spot,
thought how much I needed
to find a way back
to my flock.

And you expect me to believe this?

As I do you
and do not.
439 Total read