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Sopron


I've come here
eighteen
in awe
of your churches

your cobblestone
streets
and your clip-
clopping

horses
in love with K.
her body
melting

merging
with my own
while outside
your soldiers

with their guns
strapped
lazily
under arm

remind me
that my parents
(once young
themselves)

fled across
your marsh field
while bullets
grazed

the night sky
and Russian tanks
roamed
Budapest

where the statue
of Stalin
lay
in ruins.







2009, Ron A. Kalman
This poem first appeared in Beacon Street Review.