NELLY SACHS'S LAST DAY
(1891-1970)

Bitter herbs for us
even in the suburbs
the smoke hurts
between our ribs

Our eyes cannot
wash out the ashes
we need a shield
of a second skin

Our tongues are dry
yet we are asked
in our Babylon
to sing a song of Zion

In the furnace
of a disarmed affliction
our fingers reach out
sister's face turns gray.