"50th Anniversary: April 11, 1995" by Elizabeth Rosner

This week at Atelier26, we're featuring a series of posts about Elizabeth Rosner's extraordinarily powerful new book Gravity, out October 7th. Pulitzer Prize finalist Luis Alberto Urrea hails Gravity as "a profound work of true beauty and mystery," and poet Ellen Bass calls it "admirable for its transparency of feeling."

For today's post, one poem from Gravity. Take it slowly. Read it over a few times. Didn't we tell you this book is beautiful?

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50th Anniversary: April 11, 1995

Snow fell on us like ashes.

We wore nametags, color-coded:
the ones visiting and the ones returning.
We carried canvas bags and itineraries.
The hotel had a swimming pool and flowerbeds.
My father spoke German on the telephone.
Buses brought us to the ceremony.
Hundreds of red roses lay on the gravel.
Prayers were recited.

Snow fell on us like ashes.

A banquet was laid inside a white tent.
My father lost a tooth: became
a man with a hole in his face.
We brought him plates of food,
my sister, my brother, me.
Poles and Russians stuffed
whole pineapples into their bags.
It seemed the eating went on for days.
In the parking lot, buses waited.

My father held his hand over his mouth when he smiled.

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Order Gravity direct from Atelier26 HERE. Or, beginning this Friday, secure your signed copy at one of Ms. Rosner's upcoming events.