Poetry - Philip Sultz

Benya by Philip Sultz


In the center of town is the

big cedar that you would often

pass, the only one left standing. 

It could be you, and we wouldn’t

know it.  Who can go through

a mist where everything is

buried, where even the fields

don’t know you?  Certainly

the mothers could, but they’re

gone as well.  There’s probably 

a place with all the parts,

including the intestines, and

some hardy filament formed

with alacrity and pride, no

longer visible to the eye. 

As Montale said, beyond

the ravine, the twinkling of the

galaxy that soothes all wounds.

Take my hand Benya.



Rafael by Philip Sultz


Our ribs will hold us

together, link us with

wings, if need be. We will

conspire to freeze time,

at least till the next

thaw.  We will follow the

sleigh tracks through the

snow of Stalingrad to the

requiem we will hear, and

together we will sit on the

back end of our horse drawn

dray and kick our heels.

We will resurrect a better time

and leave your little mound

of death for awhile.  We’re

strong, Rafael, even now.