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Susan Hahn

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by this poet

Once, I got lost, 
flew over that place,
saw the tourists in their wrinkled  pastels.
The memorial between the barracks B 
The bronze barbed-wire figures twisted
to torment, the wedged-shaped
building, its barred entrance,
the strip of marble extending
through a hole in the roof,
the menorah
Hickory, dickory, dock-- 
it began of course in the nursery. 
Mouth so safe--the tucked in 
repetitions that would make 
a child smile, absurd words-- 
how I loved the non-
sense. The mouse

ran up the clock. 
Then, the clock struck one. 
The chemotherapy is working. 
Her hair has not yet