Hila Plitmann

What is the meaning for all this?

The milk sitting quietly, the half-put-away shoes.

I thought that you were circling further from me;

There were attempts at waking up.

A concoction of honey and wild flowers -

To heat the bones from inside.

But my soul is dreaming still, on a train, in Poland;

Closing in on grim distance, and a terror of never arriving.

Yet humans, we reach a destination;

And in that place, the farthest I believed you to be

the nearer you were advancing.

Chipping down the caked-on soot, and grime,

and making the Night hold a hope of morning.