SEASONAL GREETINGS
GUBBIO, WINTER 1992
Where the tourist buses turned, the Werhmacht
had murdered partisans – La Piazza
di Martiri Quaranti. The cold from the hill –
old, old rock – rose from the cathedral’s floor
into our very soles. Outside, February seemed mild,
seasoned with wood smoke. We bought a hand thrown,
hand painted jar with an ill fitting lid.
Since then: earthquakes, marriages…
GUILDFORD, SPRING 1998
Beneath the new Dillons in Guildford,
a mediaeval chamber, disclosed
during the refurbishment,
had been preserved.
Some archaeologists claimed
it was built as a synagogue:
others denied it.
Dillons’ MD was a Jew
the local paper informed us.
The peoples of the book misread each other.
THE CAPTAIN TILLY MEMORIAL PARK, QUEENS, SUMMER 2001
The Goose Pond was green with insecticide:
the West Nile mosquito threatened.
Named for the scion of a local family –
mutilated by Filipino freedom fighters
a century before – the Park was playground
for the replacements of the ‘teeming masses’:
Hispanics, Afro-Caribbeans, Asians.
From Memorial Hill, you could see the Twin Towers.
HOOLE, AUTUMN 2009
Two aging lovers, best friends in all the world,
orphaned late in life, walked circuits of the park
for their hearts; smiled at mums pushing buggies, scowled
at druggies near the gate; talked of ghosts and hope –
and jokes: ‘What’s this fly doing?’ ‘Waving, waving!’
Old lovers count their blessings, side by side.
Pages:
By David SelzerLOST
After the fluorescent shops and the snatched music,
the side street was damp and dark –
but a bag of chips and a manipulative adult
made the emptiness freedom.
Waterways were trawled and the usual,
time-dishonoured suspects questioned.
Down river, high tides returned her nine year old body.
The funeral cortège was a carriage and horses
and the local press was effulgent.
But gossip condemned her single mother,
living in a hostel on benefit.
The killer lived two floors down,
an estranged father of daughters –
a violent drunk, unemployed, unschooled.
Victim, mother and murderer
threaten the equivocal city.
Losers and losing
challenge its achievements.
Death is only one result of murder.
Remember sweet Fanny Adams – mutilated,
immortalised, profaned unthinkingly!
The murder and rape of children
seem beyond words, understanding, iniquity
– and another’s lack of love or the means to love
is out of our grasp, lost beyond finding.
Pages:
By David Selzer