Reflections on the Day of Adolph Eichmann’s Death
Thirty years make the sun
shine eye bright.
The Baptist's cool white church
lingers, shadowed in dusty green.
And she beckons me to listen.
Flowers droop her porch
curtain flowing down
enclosing her,
the white wood house,
and finally me.
And I, drawn through
age, smooth hands exposed
of texture, given up
of grasp, inspired by sound
voice pulled to listen.
Little boys live
intimate with grass,
fast red bikes,
oiled rock white roads,
and sidewalk patterned towns.
The sun is palpable then
mixing like tea
with sweat cool air that runs
in denim blue legs.
Death is,
is not a part of this
twisted blue in gagged black hood.
Enveloping voice, & hands, & sound.
Lansing
April 1986
Greenfield Series
©1986 Reflections on the Day of Adolph Eichmann’s Death
— Joseph W. Yarbrough
Reproduction prohibited without written permission.
shine eye bright.
The Baptist's cool white church
lingers, shadowed in dusty green.
And she beckons me to listen.
Flowers droop her porch
curtain flowing down
enclosing her,
the white wood house,
and finally me.
And I, drawn through
age, smooth hands exposed
of texture, given up
of grasp, inspired by sound
voice pulled to listen.
Little boys live
intimate with grass,
fast red bikes,
oiled rock white roads,
and sidewalk patterned towns.
The sun is palpable then
mixing like tea
with sweat cool air that runs
in denim blue legs.
Death is,
is not a part of this
twisted blue in gagged black hood.
Enveloping voice, & hands, & sound.
Lansing
April 1986
Greenfield Series
©1986 Reflections on the Day of Adolph Eichmann’s Death
— Joseph W. Yarbrough
Reproduction prohibited without written permission.