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Board Administrator Username: mjm Post Number: 3353 Registered: 11-1998 |
Honorable Mention The Angel of Dresden Christopher T. George After the first death there is no other. Dylan Thomas Nadia was my angel, my angel of Dresden, in those pre-war days, when I was a student of architecture come to study the baroque Zwinger Palace, the Opera House that first witnessed the passion of Tristan and Isolde. We gorged on strawberries, swigged Krüg by the deep currents of the Elbe, laughed ourselves silly, as we smoked Player's Capstan until the English sailor on the packet reminded Nadia of her brother Otto in Hitler's Kriegsmarine. Later I'd dream that Nadia would kiss my valentine, pin it inside her chemise. I smelled her lavender scent. Forget me not, Liebchen! At the time of the Allied firebombing, refugees from the East swelled her city; I imagined odors of damp wool and stale cooking, families huddled round a heater's iris flame. |
