Kristallnacht
       

was the word I heard
my parents whisper behind
closed doors. And I pictured
the world under a sudden
enchantment of ice, each tree limb
braceleted in crystal, each lamppost,
each windshield glazed
and electrically gleaming,
the very air wincing with light.
And the only sound would be
a myriad tinkling,
as of a thousand thousand
miniature wind chimes.
The treacherous beauty of words.
Crystal night: the stars themselves
blazing and frozen in place.

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Copyright © 2020 Linda Pastan All rights reserved
from Southern Poetry Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission