The Son of the Wall

The Christian cannot   

be the pitying one

because he is

the one pitied.

From a dusty road

in a straight line

from przedmiescie to Krasnystaw

at the entrance to town

at Zhitkovski's   

in his house we lived,

he makes coffins

with crosses.

On the threshold

I sat as a boy

opposite a building

held together by nails

facing the church

the cloister the impurity,

my mother says,

I sat as a boy.

On the wall

Jesus and Mary.

Jesus and his mother

were never parted.

My mother's son

left her

not to be

on the wall.

Mary's son   

never left,

and he paid

the price.

—October 26-29, 1989