The Blade of Grass from Ponar

I kept a letter from my hometown in Lithuania, from one

who still holds a dominion somewhere with her youthful charm.

In it she placed her sorrow and her affection:

A blade of grass from Ponar.

This blade of grass with a flickering puff of dying cloud

ignited, letter by letter, the faces of the letters.

And over letter-faces in murmuring smolder:

The blade of grass from Ponar.

This blade of grass is now my world, my miniature home,

where children play the fiddle in a line on fire.

They play the fiddle and legendary is their conductor:

The blade of grass from Ponar.

I will not separate from my hometown’s blade of grass.

My good, longed-for earth will make room for both.

And then I will bring a gift to the Lord:

The blade of grass from Ponar.