November 06

Bzura

Susan H. Case

She has three last names
none real.
One for each marriage and

one mangled
from a trip through Ellis Island
(as if that kerchiefed head could pass for English)

the injured one lasting a century
a name taken from the Polish river
Bzura, found on a faded map, a place

marked by nothing
but a history of futile
fighting back. These three names jumble

anagrams in Garamond
recorded in a book of yearnings.
Today she's River Woman

made of dried mud.
And tomorrow a package arrives
addressed to another.

Gornisht, she says, glances
backward. Ungrips the past.
Begins to unwrap.

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