Paul Celan's Muttersprache
Birkenau and Buchenwald are station stops.
Shame is better than silence. Poisoned air still lingers
over new grass. I will always taste bitter herbs.
Only in German can I tell you these truths,
but not how beautiful Paris is when the light changes.
Here, the Seine has its own cold language.
When I visited Jerusalem, the Dead Sea sang to me
from the Tanakh.
Day is night. I recite the Sabbath prayers.
Jennifer Poteet lives in Montclair, NJ. Her work has appeared recently in Paterson Literary Review, Journal of New Jersey Poets, Swwim, Whale Road Review and others. Her chapbook Sleepwalking Home was published by Dancing GIrl Press. Jennifer's website is jenniferpoteet.com.