Stop Giving War a Meaning
by MAYA PREJBISZ
This was not your holocaust, Jews
My grandfather was in a labor camp in Poland during world war II
This was not your malice, Germans
There, the Nazis would feed the enslaved the saltiest foods they could muster
pouring salt upon salt, crusting scraps of fish in skins of white crystal
This was not your helplessness, Poland and France
Grandpa would eat, what choice did he have?
This was not your idleness, United States
When the salty goods were devoured the Germans would wait and see who would try to save themselves
from drying up with a swig of water, they would wait and wait, scheming in the wings
This is no ones to claim
Eventually everyone would come to have a drink, for this, some were shot while others were spared—
To the Pollacks, Gypsies, Germans, Jews-
the array of people with one exception-
dead because of your labels
—-They were randomly chosen
and continue to die with this
prolonging of differences, wearing survival
and remembrance as emblems of culture
After my grandfather was freed he would not talk about what had happened
making war yours and yours and yours
making death yours and yours and yours
making life yours and yours and yours
But he said so much as we observed how he had such a hard time
eating anything too savory
who’s world war was it?
what world’s war was it?
and the meaning of salt was changed forever
One Incident Summary
by MAYA PREJBISZ
Daddy bought another bottle of gin
to drink down as remedy, cause he’s been awful
down, and the bottles half empty
When daddy’s not looking his little girl would pour
some alcohol out and put some water in
Then, when daddy would take a drink
they’d both feel
like they were taking care of themselves
in the only way they knew how.
Maya Prejbisz was born in Toronto, Canada in 1989. Her intention for writing is to connect (inner vs. outer worlds, soul to soul). She is currently working on cementing her future as a graduate student and eventually a professor of the the literary arts. Maya currently lives in New Jersey.
Charge of the Commensurately Paid
by CHARLES ORLOSKI
O Kipling, O Light, I am impressed by
al-Qaeda triumphs in Tripoli and Damascus,
I am traumatized by Hell’s Angels peacekeeping
at Rolling Stones concert at Altamount.
I look to those evil-doers behind bars,
Camp X-Ray and other “thought” re-hab centers,
those who rot facing Mecca, those domestics treated
with psycho-reactive and mind-control drugs,
set free such talents – let loose upon Consumerism-writ,
make miserable those pension-robbers,
place Cheney and Rush on icebergs afloat,
set naked mad-dogs upon the M.I.C.,
sentence politico-lifers to 5-years rebuilding infrastructure
with shovels and picks, ten-minute breaks
and paychecks with Obamacare deductions.
O Light Brigade, go charge-it, credit or debit?
U.S. approved-Resistance sets aim at Syrian Assad,
Kipling saw war-gold, he loved the Ottoman thunder,
Hell’s Angels are free to organize in Yemen,
it’s a New World Order after all,
what is “goose for gander,”
what was Gipper for Contras & drug war…
what say al-Qaeda for Union-Change in job-scarce Michigan?
Charles Orloski lives in Taylor, Pennsylvania. He can be reached at ccdjOrlov@aol.com.
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