Holocaust Memorial, Berlin

Some stories need stones
To tell them since silence
Best speaks them. Some
Stories need eyes to hear them
When speech is given
To ghosts. Some stories
Need space to write them
Footfalls to walk them, steps
To trace them, falling as
Leaves and floating in
Sighs, caught in beams
And shining in shadows
Some stories are best told
In open places where the blue
Sky watches the tree seed
Escape your searching eye.

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Love Poem

Love is a new city
Walked through street by street
Love is holding hands
Love is aching feet
A new city is uncertain routes
Unhealthy foods, unempty
Seats. A new city is seeing
New things well after you’re
Totally trashed and beat.
Love is knowing home is in
Cities old and new when
The journey home is always
Far, and 19 years too few.

That moment when

The Chandra clan hangs out
In the city, yakking about
Their feelings and those of
Others, sharing trauma and joy
Laughing till the tears come,
Nodding over some moment
Of childish fun, stories of
Grief, love, how rarely they meet
Until one looks down and sees
The curb at her feet and since
She’s quite bright, memory nudges
And she wonders when the light will 
Change so they can cross the street.