Blood and Soil - Believer Magazine
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Blood and Soil

Jason Schneiderman
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Let me lift my shirt for you.

    Let me bear my throat.

One dollar! One dollar! 

    Cut as deep as you like! 

One dollar! The Bloodless Boy Wonder!

    Money back if he bleeds!

I have no blood. No soil. 

    I have bones and muscle and skin.

But no land. No blood.

    Cut anywhere you want lady.

The boy sure hopes you’re shy.

    The easiest customers 

are the big men

    who want to figure out the trick.

There is no trick. 

    Just me, and a knife,

and a tent, and a barker.

    I stay perfectly silent. 

Their faces start red, 

    but turn white 

when nothing comes out

    as the blade goes in. 

Some find God 

    inside me. 

I say, home is 

    where the knives are.

What Jew doesn’t wander? 

    When they come with their torches,

shouting Blood and Soil, I think

    If I had those, I’d be as poor

as you. I think 

    That’s just ordinary.

I think Someone should blow out all

    their big, stupid candles. 

If all you want is dirt,

    it’s everywhere you go. 

Just look down

    at the dirt you walk on.

If all you want is blood,

    I can show you how easy 

it is to cut. Most people 

    can find all the blood 

they ever wanted,

    right there inside themselves.

Right beneath the skin,

    where it’s been hiding.
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