Poland 1941

On a warm evening, after a forest clearance,
Stress ebbed away. The girl who cleaned for him
Brought him his schnapps outside –also somehow
A purity that touched him, and he said,

‘You’re very nice. I’ll never kill you with
The others.’ Showed her then a flowering tree
Of a rare beauty. ‘I’ll kill you separately
And put you under it.’ As she withdrew,

He thought: ‘I haven’t lost my decent heart.’
By chance she lived; an artist now in London.
The catalogues say ‘born in Poland’, and
When browsers gaze at a rich flowering tree

In her ‘Self Portrait, ‘Childhood Memories’,
They can hear Chopin’s music in her art,
And try to guess the tender memory.

Alicia Adams, sole survivor of 30,000 in her town.