butterflyzrfree's Journal

Journal Entry for April 7, 2009
Tuesday, April 7, 2009

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1. 

   Tulip Garden by Gail Gutierrez
   
   
   In green bowls of hate
   No chakras here, just porridge,
   Sat Greta, in her kitchen
   Sat Greta, of the concentration camps
   Sat Greta, who was not a Jew, but Catholic.
   Who sat every day at her
   american table, wooden, painted white.
   
   Went to her white painted porch swing, after breakfast.
   With her coffee and her purring cat.
   That calmed her from her memories and dreams.
   And neighbors' gossip ( she the only Pole)
   Spoke Polish, Dutch and German, not English.
   Children whispering as they walk by her house
   That strange mean lady, she could care less
   As long as they stayed out of the flowers.
   Her little cottage with white picket fence
   and she had a carpenter cut the dutch door.
   So it felt like home.
   That and the tulip garden
   
   
   first crocuses would come up through the snow
   Signalling the onset of spring.
   Then the Daffodils around the streetlighs.
   The postman liked them best.
   He did not understand about the tulips.
   Red ,yellow, pink, in all sizes and shapes.
   
   she smiled her tight smile about that,
   She didn't care, about anything her own beauty,
   Only memories haunted her.
   
   She who was selected to find the gold.
   Big girl for twelve; gave her age sixteen
   Selected to collect from the dead bodies
   To pry the gold from teeth-a great job
   as then, then she could perhaps survive.
   She lived in a special cabin- not with the Jews
   All the gold diggers lived there-adults but for her, and big
   She got TWO porrige pots and so
   could piss and shit in one and eat in the other.
   sewage creek nearby to wash the pots
   and her two gowns now, one clean for after work
   or as clean as they could be.
   
   and a roof which did not leak. And a sort of full stomach
   the biggest thing of all.
   
   The Jews hated them, as they would live
   (or so they thought, but not all did)
   Yet SHE did, as the war was ended soon.
   sooner than expected.
   
   She had her choice, Israel or America
   Of course America it was, and so, New York.
   A small city in the northern part of state.
   Quiet, with a good winter, just like home.
   And she never again spoke german ever.
   
   Worked as a maid for Polish couples and Dutch
   Who had married well enough and were comfortable
   and loved her, knew her history and saw tattoo
   And paid her well, and she enjoyed
   Kept their places spotless, not like
   americans, they said, they are slovenly people
   and don't know how to work.
   
   And her tulips bloomed and brought back memories
   of a little girle with mother, and much love
   Who went to marketplace and let her pick out groceries,
   and all the tulips and the bulbs for spring.
   She would pick some colors, and those were HERS.
   Special, like her loving mother and father
   times were bad, her father said
   Her mother, who was avery stern and clean,
   softened up with her, one day at market
   Told her of the coming war. and so forth.
   very gently then and so much love.
   "Nothing is easy in the life" she said.
   And nothing was, but she had no idea
   what was to come.
   Took her to church each sunday,
   which is where she was when the Nazis came
   Which no doubt saved their life.
   
   and they spoke only
   German after that. they took her mom for cleanup
   of Nazi bunkers, and she was thin, but immaculate
   And Greta never saw her or Papa again.
   
   She had life now, old, arthritis, wrinkled, short grey hair
   Small pension, went to market every day.
   In constant pain, of body and mind
   And always, every spring
   She could depend on the tulips

   
   

   butterflyzrfree

2. 

   I know that this is a long read. If anyone has any advice on how to shorten it, let me know.

   
   

   butterflyzrfree

3. 

   Gail,
   
   This poem is beautiful and I would not change it or shorten it. I am reminded of the thing you said about the cartoon on Onion about the microwave and Greta's life is in your poem. Perhaps someone else may have a comment about shortening it. I love it.
   Susanna

   
   

   wardman

4. 

   Thanks Wardman! Maybe i should leave it as it, do you think?

   
   

   butterflyzrfree

5. 

   YES YES YES.!!! I read it twice and it is great.

   
   

   wardman

6. 

   yes yes leave it as it is... it is well worth the read and as always great

   
   

   stillhere2008

7. 

   only thing i might suggest for younger readers they might not understand tatto. i know what it means and why u have it there but alot might not know, so just a thought. the rest is great.. like the memory parts and of course the meaning to her of the tupilps.. yes long but i agree well worth the read

   
   

   jhcamero

8. 

   Thanks, Joe, I loved the photos that you just posted! I am finally back on the DS. Had some password problems... Yes, I thought about the tattoo thing, but it is important the Nazi's knew that Jews were not allowed to be buried in their cemetery with one. It was a systematic form of humiliation (one of many).

   
   

   butterflyzrfree

9. 

   Janet, I think that you wrote this and not Joe!! Thanks for reading it, I truely appreciate it! I knew this character was not Jewish, but that was the origin of the tattoo thing, and they just stuck with it. Anyway, hope you are well, and will keep in touch!

   
   

   butterflyzrfree

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