Amsterdam

AMSTERDAM

Queues of jovial faces
in line to see the refuge
of the girl from the synagogue.
What fates had determined those other queues
of yesteryear
for little Anna?
Her days are inscribed on the walls
and breaths of dread
are still lingering on the window.
Further down, at the painter’s, queues again
as tour guides
make introductions unbeknownst to him.
At times he nods from a portrait.
His breathing ebbs away
receding under the crowd
but now, you see,
it is a question of honour;
he will endure.
No, it was not unwittingly that fate brought them together.
At dusk the painter holds Anna by the hand,
they walk the city streets
both inhaling
the years of confinement
and before dawn, they go back to their places
introducing the passersby and the unsuspecting
to aspects of the monster
we hold within us for all time.