The front face of the building, reddish
brick, resembles a Candy
Shop, it is April, of ’93, Amsterdam,
and everything is clear and
dry, a sunny morning, a few bikes chained to a nearby post.
The Ann Frank House is in front of me.
This is where she lived near the end of WWII.
The stairs seem to be an immense distance
between the first steps
to the empty bookshelf that leads into her room….
The distance through which Nazies and their
helpers rose and fell,
the distance between heaven and hell—
It is all felt in residue chills, left by
her, after her death to remind
us, she once was—
In her room on the wall is a picture of
Alexander the Great, perhaps
it reminded her she had to be strong like him, which I passed
reluctantly: you’d be astounded how narrow the room is…!
#3881 (4-26-2013)
