John Guzlowski: Two poems about my mother
My mother still remembers
The long train to Magdeburg
the box cars
bleached gray
by Baltic winters
December 11, 2025 · 17 Comments
John Guzlowski: Fear
You could hear the fear in my mom’s voice. She feared everything, the sky in the morning, a drink of water, a sparrow singing in a dream, me whistling some stupid little Mickey Mouse Club tune I picked up on TV.
October 30, 2025 · 10 Comments
John Guzlowski: Hope Is Our Mother
A question I get often about my Polish parents is what kept them going during the war and after the war.
September 14, 2025 · 18 Comments
John Guzlowski: Hunger
He ate what would kill a man
in the normal course of his life:
leather buttons, cloth caps, anything
small enough to get into his mouth.
He ate roots. He ate newspaper.
August 22, 2025 · 19 Comments
John Guzlowski: Four Poems
My mother never thought she’d survive
that first winter in the slave labor camps.
February 22, 2024 · 24 Comments
