Emerald Dragon Archives

You oughtn’t to use bad language, Anny

Says, appearing out of nowhere, a small

Bow tied in her long blonde hair, Momie said

It wasn’t good. You say, I never use bad

Language when I write poems about you.

She comes closer to the PC and stares

At the screen. Is this poem about me?

Most of it, you say, gazing at her small

Ghostly hand on the arm of the swivel

Chair. Her finger moves along the PC

Screen, tracking the line of words. I used to

Write with a pen, Anny says, in my neat

Handwriting, Momie’d say. She wipes dust from

The monitor’s top, then wipes her hand on

Her black phantom dress. She has beautiful

Blue eyes, but you don’t tell her, you just gaze

As she touches your mouse pad and then the

White mouse and then picks up the Biro as

Children do and scribbles away. The air

Smells of flowers; then she’s gone. The neatly

Penned words in French say, Anny Horowitz,

Murdered in Auschwitz, 1942.

The room is empty of her presence now,

Just your PC, your sleeping son and you.