Waking on the Pribor Train, Near Freud’s Birthplace
____________________________________

I hear before I see.
Halfway through the rain-wet
Fields of Pribor in winter,
Some distant, barking dogs
Suggest the town.
I have heard tell
Of its shops with names
Predating the war
When this was a Jewish city.
I have found it all this way
Like a cup or a pocketknife
Or a hat from childhood
I thought was lost.
Illumined by the station lights
The tiny veins
Flicker behind my eyes,
And I open my eyes:
It’s like floating back into the world
After prayer. The moon
Is out. The dogs are slick
And fluid in their tight, black fur.

From The Clearing by David Keplinger

New Issues Poetry & Prose, Western Michigan University, Dept. of English,
1903 W. Michigan Ave., Kalamazoo, MI 49008-5331

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