England, oh my England

April 10, 2021 § 4 Comments

I cannot read the word ‘Flanders’ without a wrench inside. I cannot think of you, England, nor can I compare it to the other four corners of this earth.

Waking up in the winter room, and my breath is a white mist.

The lead around the windowpane is frosted over.

That I could be reunited with my homeland, that I could ride my horse again, on your crispy, January lawns.

I cannot think of teacups and wallpaper without that wrench.

What on earth am I doing so far from my beloved England? What possessed me?

I suppose, I wanted to be a Good Jew.

How wretched.

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