A lotus flower floats on her lower lip.
The notes of her cello form sprigs
between my toes. Holy, I say. Heilig,
she says and I fall. Pain has a life,
even in sound. The timbre of German
trumpets silenced truths. I remember
I am Nazi. I remember I am Jew.
I lie upon her bow
as it stretches across the strings.
Heilen, she says, it is time to heal.
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