We Are the Germans, a poem

In Portland, Oregon,  a city much criticized by the president, 
protesters were abducted by Federal officers acting without jurisdiction. 
Here's a link to see read more about this: https://tinyurl.com/y2mu85b2
With these men behaving like Hitler's brown shirts of Nazi Germany, 
the poem I wrote after Trump's inauguration feels even more like prophecy. 
I'm re-posting it here. 
       America January 27, 2017 & beyond
 Terror, anger, shame.
 I wonder If this is how
 the German people felt—
 the ones who cobbled shoes,
 the ones who rose early
 to bake bread,
 the ones who rocked
 babies in their arms
 and sang guten Morgen—
 I wonder if this is how
 the German people felt
 when they saw
 what they had done,
 chosen a monster
 to lead their country.
 Instead of yards full of chickens,
 and pockets full of deutsche marks,
 the German people were treated to
 streets swept clean of their unclean
 neighbors, and courtyards
 full of dust and darkness,
 uniformed men with brutal
 hands to patrol the land with pride.
 I wonder if those Germans
 who tended their gardens,
 or who kept books
 for the mom and pop markets,
 or who constructed those fine
 Mercedes Benz limousines
 piece by elegant piece—
 I wonder if this is how
 those Germans felt,
 the way Americans do now
 only a few days after our
 new leader has assumed office
 and signed the proclamation
 stating Muslims aren’t welcome
 on our American soil.
 Terror, anger, shame.
 I wonder if those Germans
 bit their tongues to blood,
 or worried their knuckles raw.
 Did they feel any sorrow at all,
 or did they simply lay
 their heads on pillows
 and wind the alarm clocks
 for another day?

3 thoughts to “We Are the Germans, a poem”

  1. Thanks, Lana;

    And so we rewind our heads, but not our hearts!

    A real “keeper,” prescient for/against the totalitarian state.


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