History counts its skeletons in round numbers. A thousand and one remains a thousand, as though the one had never existed: an imaginary embryo, an empty cradle, ... emptiness running down steps toward the garden, nobodys place in line.
ATTRIBUTION:
Wislawa Szymborska (b. 1923), Polish poet. Hunger Camp at Jaslo, lines 6-9, 12-13, translated by Grazyna Drabik and Austin Flint.
I know that Symborskas first book of poetry was published in 1948, but I dont know whether this poem was in it. In any event, that book was attacked by her government and had to be withdrawn. Neither do I know the date of the translation.