Melatenwiese

A book on the history
Of quarantine mentions this
Spot where Germany extends

Two-hundred rectangular
Meters into Belgium’s Liege,
A postage-stamp patch of land

Cut into a postage-stamp
Patch of a country. This was
The Lepers Meadow. It seems

Medieval Aachen quartered
Them in a sort of ghetto
On that spot. When it became

A part of Belgium, Belgium
Didn’t really want it, no
Matter it was empty,

Had been empty of lepers
Centuries. Locals steered clear.
Now it’s back to Germany.

What a strange power to have,
Historical memory.
While Europeans carved up

The landscape and each other,
Over and over, the mere
Reminder of infection

Was enough to get good land,
Empty meadow, albeit
Not much of it, rejected.

Would that we could raise the ghosts
Of disease in all disputes,
Vastly expand the parklands

Of the world by planting seeds
Of hauntings by leprosy,
Create unwanted borders

No one would venture to cross
With settlers or troops or both,
Idyllic Lepers Meadows.