God Hid His Face
Selected Poems of RAJZEL ZYCHLINSKY
 
The September Wind

The September wind repeats my brother Yukev's
last request:
Yashek, I'll dude at your place
in the empty shack;
just bring me, sometimes,
a little water,
a piece of bread,
and I'll survive.

But Yashek, our Polish neighbor, did not answer. 
The yellow leaves are falling, falling from the trees – 
my brother Yukev's last words. 
All the empty shacks in the world 
are now 
wide open and wait – 
wait for my dead brother Yukev 
to come drink water 
and eat bread.
 

Translated by Aaron Kramer 

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