THE GATE

Excerpt XLV

Therefore put forgotten things aside; they don’t

help; each reproduction is but a poor repetition;

gun shots come in between, the plain is filled with

empty shells and bomb fragments; the factory

siren screams;

the soldiers go wild; women grab their dresses,

knee-high as if they lay them on their backs. The

fool hits his head against the bakery wall and with

his back on us he devours the stolen loaf of bread.

I, he says,

filled my mouth with my fist, what to hit and how?

And who?

The thin fist hurts more than the face it hits,

— made of steel or stone — tall wall high up;

therefore, don’t hit, we’ve learned this from the first

day we were born.

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