After Auschwitz
“To write poetry after Auschwitz is barbaric.” – Theodor Adorno
I share the cold, windy beach with exactly one gull, and it displays zero interest in me, preferring to investigate the tidal pools for scallops and clams. As per doctor’s orders, I am walking pain away – or, rather, trying to. Up on the dunes, the dead beach grass rustles, a stiff old voice telling stories from the Bible, a surprising number of which concern shitty fathers, estranged brothers, barren wives. I turn back toward home when I reach the life guard station, shuttered until summer. A gust of wind rattles the metal sign that says Swim in Designated Areas Only. Spooked, the gray gull rises into the sky with a series of heartrending shrieks, a language very few can understand. Such a waste of wisdom.
- © Howie Good 2023
Howie Good's newest poetry collection, Heart-Shape Hole, which also includes examples of his handmade collages, is available from Laughing Ronin Press.
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