Holland,

A tulip bulb, a pint of milk and a piece of bread

When certain regimens are undeniable

Such holocaust survivor’s detours to host through historical revisionism sups to

Planted on the foreshore of routes to tease out the number of steps

Accomplished to retrace a mother’s deprivations

Dike hulled and cake holed salivation of stones sucked

Stories to be bold enough to endure adversity not cut

From the same cloth either worn as a scarf or wrapped

To hold a pudding of imagining a repast to end all repasts,

Neither of a borough contemplated as a grim reflection

Of the new world’s isolationism taunted to build a pack

In defiance of a terror regime’s cast iron will to destroy

The bonds between nature and magic to restore a hunger

For life lived at a pace barely outrunning itself in a bid to survive.

A tulip bulb, a pint of milk and a piece of bread

Per each sampled piecemeal child every seven new dawns divided

Just enough to sustain a starved refrain of when will it stop?

Caught in the throat of innocence on a dare from experience

Untimely in casting its call not even a juju could hope to appease.

Michael Haward