Eva Collins : Photographs and Writing


Ghosts from the Past

In a German delicatessen
I stand in the queue.

English voices,
foreign voices,
across the counter.

Piles of slices:

Blood Sausage
Chopped Livers
Smoked Tongue.

my turn.

I point to some translucent slices.
“What’s this one called?” I ask.
“Roar Ham!”

The shop is stuffy and noisy.
“Roar Ham, you said?”

Ears blocking.
Voices fading.

Pressing behind me
Flesh queuing for meat,
breathing down my neck.

People roaring
in the slaughter house.

“War Ham!” she calls out louder.
Even worse.

“War Ham?”
I marvel at her unmoved face.

Roasted Ribs
Marinated Thighs
Gypsy Ham

The shop assistant
waits for the order.


Eva Collins