In the quiet space of the dining room
My wife and I lay out the place settings
The forks beside the Wedgwood plates
The spoons and knives in their places.
A napkin in her hand, she pauses
And tells me again of how her mother
Would starch and iron the squares of cotton
Wash the plates by hand and again by machine.
I smile, nod my head and turn to the window
See the roof next door lift, shingles
Exploding like scattered sparrows, and there
It is—the howl of the locomotive wind
And then a pounding at the glass door
And a screaming that will not stop.
John Guzlowski’s writing has appeared in Garrison Keillor's Writers' Almanac, The Ontario Review, Atlanta Review, Crab Orchard Review, and other journals. His poems about his parents’ experiences in Nazi concentration camps appear in his book Lightning and Ashes. He blogs about his parents and their experiences at http://lightning-and-ashes.blogspot.com/ .