meditations on the work
of käthe kollwitz
i. the hungry
we are trapped in the small
cold rooms we are trapped
by the cold of our hands
unable to grasp the knob
and turn unable to push
the door forward unable
to step into the street
for all our huddling you’d
think we would be warm
for all our warmth you'd
think there’d be a fire
for all our muted fire
you’d think we’d make
a storm electric enough
to brighten a single day
crouched down crouched down
we cradle the soft heads
of children in our hands
ii. the child
i cradle your face
rounded yet
from sleep and birth
hum for you the old
soft song of worry
and hope
lift your face child
there is yet a little
milk in the cup
iii. käthe
pick up the stick
from the ashes
pick up the rought
black pen
your hands cracked
with shadow
the dawn
raining boys
meant for seed corn
meant for growing
meant for radiance
burned to ash
iv. death
we have spoken
long years she
talking by taking
my son my husband i
fusing my replies
from pen brush stone
time has molded us
close
her lips grow slow
to answer now
i slip from pause
to pause
her hands reach out
silent i nestle down
the womb’s sweet shroud
—Christine Sikorski
meditations of the work of käthe kollwitz first appeared in ArtWord Quarterly, Spring 2001