[For Nathan Altermann ] <br />Altermann, sipping wine, reads with a look <br />Of infinite patience and slight suffering. <br />When I approach him, he puts down his book, <br />Waves t the chair beside him like a king, <br />Then claps his hands, and an awed waiter fetches <br />Bread, kosher sausage, cake, a chicken's wing, <br />More wine, some English cigarettes, and matches. <br />‘Eat, eat,' Altermann says, ‘this is good food.' <br />Through the awning over us the sunlight catches <br />His aquiline sad head, till it seems hewed <br />From tombstone marble. I accept some bread. <br />I've lunched already, but would not seem rude. <br />When I refuse more, he feeds me instead, <br />Heaping my plate, clapping for wine, his eyes <br />-Expressionless inside the marble head— <br />Appearing not to notice how the flies <br />Form a black, sticky icing on the cake. <br />Thinking of my health now, I visualize <br />The Aryan snow floating, flake upon flake, <br />Over the ghetto wall where only fleas <br />Fed well, and they and hunger kept awake <br />Under sharp stars, those waiting for release. <br />Birds had their nests, but Jews nowhere to hide <br />When visited by vans and black police. <br />The shekinah rose where a people died, <br />A pillar of flame by night, of smoke by day. <br />From Europe then the starved and terrified <br />Flew. Now their mourner sits in this café. <br />Telling me how to scan a Hebrew line. <br />Though my attention has moved far away <br />His features stay marble and aquiline. <br />But the eternal gesture of his race <br />Flowing through the hands that offer bred and wine <br />Reveals the deep love sealed in the still face.<br /><br />Dom Moraes<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/rendezvous-29/
