Cotillion remnants, great expectations, Innocent child, she thought that marriage Was all she needed to be happy ever after. From birgin white to very soiled, Don't ever think she was boring, Quite the opposite, Flamboyant, eccentric, often erratic, She once ran away with a Hungarian Gypsy. They all wanted her body, But the child moved in and stayed with her forever. She was in war, She never knew if she would come out alive, Blood on her rose petals, Thorns in her fingers. She is dancing on top of the ruins, To the tune of the sirens, V-day life on a merry-go-round. She thought she had finally made it, When she fell out of her gondola, Flat on her ass. When she was bad, She stuck needles in her dolls. When she got older, nostalgia was ever present. She imagined that she was Ruben's and Titian's model In her former life. At peace at last, content, older but still fribolous, Alone... But rich on life's experiences, Happy and sad, But a good sad.

Embracing souls that walk through my door, Immediate communication without words, Hearts are singing, humming the same tune, Aches and pains of body and soul, Vanish like clouds in the sky, We soar, we collide, we love so fully, Ready to burst like fireworks into the atmosphere, Sparks dropping down, igniting creativity, Humor and laughter, We feel reborn. Complete!

I am sending you the dew from my ice flowers on my window, A quiet tear shed for our children ho are looking for their grandparents, We once had to tell them old fairy tales to make them feel secure, With this poem I want to bridge the time span, I want to pull you to my side, out of the water without drowning, Moonless nights, gone forever, Mossy stones sinking slowly to the bottom of the sea, There once was a princess...

Gray sky, gray mood, gray headstone, Where did you go? To my parents cottage. They look the same, As I remembered them so long ago, I am ten years old. One of my father's legs is shot off, The leg still hanging in the apple tree. War... I am detached from the earth, I am sitting on a cloud, Singing songs in a language I never knew. I see, I feel but I am not really there, What kind of place is this? They call us dream dancers... White light, white mind, white body, Serenity... Please God send me back to earth, To filth, pain, sorrow and hate, I cannot stand all that goodness, I need an enema!

I came back so many times, This time is different, You are not there anymore, But you are really with me, I never have to cross the ocean again, I am taking you with me wherever I go, I carry you in my heart, You are so light, And you give me so much happiness, You are closer than ever before, We function as one. Again I never asked you, If you like to be so attached, To another body, As always I take what feels good to me, What makes me happy, Without thinking, What do you want? Labor pains, Bloody birth, Escape, Someday I will follow you!

Sleepless nights, panic, How will I get through this nightmare? City sounds, strange to me, scary, Shards of broken glass, dirt and grime, I want to crawl back into my mother's womb, So the rats won't get me. Warm, secure, just laying there for a long time, Don't leave me, hold me tight, I am aching, Last night I dreamed I was young again, Fearless, strong peasant stock. Bull Shit! Rude Awakening! I am tearing at wrinkled snake skin and I am bleeding, I griebe now and miracles won't happen.

My city, my home, Childhood memories... Beautiful parks, abundance of flowers, Sidewalk cafes and the muses, First assassination to the soul of my city. Kristal Nacht! Crystal Night! Kill the Jews! Mountains of glass, mirrored by burning buildings, I stand in awe. First feeling of fright, What will become of this city of fire? Years later, second distraction... War, bombs, buildings toppling! I run with my baby to save our lives, Trapped in basements, I still hear the sirens. Heil Hitler! All is hopeless. My city, my home. Nothing left. I must leave, But I come back, No war or discrimination now. Everything must be beautiful and whole again, I want to hear my mother tongue. Through winding roads and tree lined streets I try to find my way. My ears are assaulted by foreign words, I look for familiar faces, But I see people from all countries, Bringing their ways to my city, Betrayed again and lost. Strangers took over with no pride, no growth, destroping my sweet memories. Germany... I have to cut the umbilical cord!

Father's mouth closed, Don't know his thoughts. Mother sewing... Where are your hands to caress me, Wipe away my tears? Lonely Spring, thin child, Water blue eyes, pale skin, Starving for love. Father never home, Mother sewing... Dry mouth, hot sidewalk, Sunday alone, hot summer, Thin child, thin dress, wet feet, Father gone, Mother sewing... Rainy Autumn, falling chestnuts, Thin child, clinging to old wood stobe, Father gone, Mother sewing... Touch me Mother, I am cold! Hands with needles embracing me, Everything dies in winter, Father gone forever, Mother sewing...

I dare the wind on the wings of eternity, Like hair, feathers, down and wings, The wind abandons, picks up, drops and tears, There is no safety or assurance. Dreams. Nothing but dreams... Buy me a hat in China, Buy me a fan in Japan, Buy me bonbons in Paris. In Paris gazing out my window, I see Picasso's head high on a pole Being marched before my eyes. In dreams, Chagall is flying by Wearing a long blue feather boa. Where are they all bound? I know that when artists die, They turn into creatures of the sea And swim in oceans of colors. They drown in bliss, Or save themselves by clinging To bright and shiny rainbows. Colors at any price, To buy the sun, the light, To melt into glorious, frantic disarray.

From the shadows of a mother's shelter, I have at last been freed. The eyes are like mirrors, Reflecting what is seen, And what is unseen. The mouth is the fountain, From which the words spring forth. When lips are sealed, The thoughts stay hidden, I laugh in English, Think in German, And read from an empty book. I like butterfly kisses upon my hand, The hand opens, gives, seizes, Feels, caresses, and holds. It is a tool and often empty, But full are my thoughts of days long past. When dialing a phone number, I dial a date when I was loved, When I was happy... Love... Life... so precious, A never ending Spring!

Rainy days... Barefoot I am walking in the vineyards. Red horny snails riding by, balancing their castles. Worms... slimp, fat, gray, Darting in and out of loamy grounds, Wriggling between my toes. I stare and watch... Pouring rain, little streams. I see worms turning into slippery multicolored snakes, And red snails become fiery dinosaurs. Why do I see such things? I am picking grapes... Green, thick, fleshy marbles, Succulent, wet and sweet. The creatures and I are fighting for the largest ones, They are as insatiable as I am, Always searching for better and bigger pieces, Nothing is enough! I want to swallow everything, I'd like to stop but I can't! I have to fight for the best and tastiest morsels in life, Until I'm fulfilled... or dead.

We the little people, See no further than the knee, We will never climb a steeple, God, how can you let this be? Never look you in the eyes, While we tell you our sorrows, Our happiness or lies, Is there really a tomorrow? But we have a soul like yours, And a little heart that loves, Our eyes cry little tears, Only great are our fears, That some day a cruel foot, Steps upon our little heads, But it will do us no good, Watch out people where you step!

Little caterpillar, Dreams to be a butterfly, His wings will be so colorful, And he will swing high in the sky. Has to be an acrobat, Hanging from a little twig, Swinging in the wind and rain, Hoping his waiting is not in vain. Ten moons gone and out he flies, Near a pond to see his colors. "Thank God, I am not a moth," Wondrous was his only thought. fter kissing purple flowers, Full of sweetness off he flies, Higher, Higher! Love that sunshine, Hear him breathing little sighs, Momentary images, Sunshine catching in his wings, Giving me an instant pleasure, And I marvel at such things. For a short time life will be Happiness and ecstacy.

I will try to explain about love, I don't know if I can, I know you have the love yourself first, Dou cannot say I want to be in love, You have to wait until somebody sends out a tiny spark, Like amour or Eros using an arrow, This spark might die on its way from lack of air, Before it reaches you, But if you receive it, It may start a flicker of a candle, That flicker might shine for awhile, It could burst into a bright flame, It may turn into a wild fire for awhile, It has to be extinguished before it destroys, But if it turns into the real thing, The flame will burn a long time, Maybe forever and I would call it love, It will be the high time of one's life, Nothing compares, Through the years the fire will turn into Beautiful, warm, sometimes sparkling embers, The light will still reflect in the lover's eyes, You look out for each other, You cannot imagine to be without each other, But you know the moment will come, When one's time is up and one stays behind alone, The embers will turn to ashes, Which will slowly sift through the lonely one's fingers, Remembering the past, Vivid, lovely memories is all that is left, And the certainty that they will see each other

I'll try to explain love i don't know if i can. I know you have to love your self first. you cannot say i want to be in love, you have to wait until somebody sends out a tiny spark, like eros or amor used an arrow! this spark might dye on its way from lack of air before it reaches you. but if you receive it, it may start a flicker of a candle that flicke might shine for a while and it could burst in to a bright flame. it may turn into a wild. fire for a while, but it has to be extinguished before it distroys. but if it turns into the real flame will burn for a long timne, maybe forever, and i would call it love. It will be the high time of ones life, nothing compares. Through the years the fire will turn into beatiful warm, somee times sparkling embers, the light will still reflect in the lovers eyes. You look out for each other, you care and you cannot imagine to be without each other. but you know the moment will come when one's time is up and stays behind alone. The embers will turn to ashes, which will slowly sift through the lonely ones fingers, remembering the past vivid, lovely memories is all that is left and the certainty that they will see each other again. Margot Gottfried December 8, 1998