THE MAN WHO LOOKED FOR ROTTEN APPLES

In memoriam Simon Wiesenthal


About shiny apples rotten from
within, seldom coming from a
sturdy branch, caught in sullied
hands – about these I wished to write.
But outside the train my attention
is constantly captured by trees whose
leaves are fading, crêpe-paper
roses framing meadows and further on
a hole fresh dug, a tree stretched out
beside it, waiting to be planted.


Translation: John Irons

© Henk van Zuiden