young women were shorn as "brands" for alleged collaboration with German officers. In later decades, a shaved head for a woman symbolized resistance, a statement that transcended simplistic branding and recognized the complex socio-political roles of women. Here, perhaps the poet envisions a young woman—possibly herself—earnestly committed to her political beliefs yet grappling with confusion.

The subsequent image of young boys tormenting frogs adds another layer of violence, yet carries a disconcertingly universal resonance. Such acts, disturbingly common among boys, serve to amplify the poem’s unsettling atmosphere.

The poet revisits the cityscape, a metropolis seemingly amnesic yet fueled by a thirst for vengeance. Its motives for retribution are nebulous, perhaps rooted in opposition to political dogmas or in retaliation against those who dared to defy its authority, their rebellious acts lingering on like indelible scars. Again, the poet invites the reader into an imaginative journey, envisioning the city's visage and its governance, contemplating its power structures and the figures who wield authority. This vision becomes deeply personal, as the poet entwines the reader into the very fabric of the city: “tell me if it is not true you still / live in that city.” In this moment, poet and reader become indistinguishable, reminiscing on a place—or state of mind—where the city's ideology stands in stark contrast to their own. It is both an imagined realm and an inescapable mental landscape.

Stanza 2

The imagined city of the second stanza emerges as a distinct yet familiar terrain, imbued with striking religious imagery. The poet envisions a divided city, reminiscent of regions marked by stark segregation—perhaps a nod to Jerusalem's enduring divides or America's stark socioeconomic contrasts. The city's description flirts with the surreal, where temples and telescopes stand as sentinels, probing the "stormy codices." This imagery evokes a religious motif, framing codices as sacred or spiritual laws, their storminess suggesting chaos or upheaval. The temporal ambiguity of "used" adds to the mystery, whether referring to past or ongoing observations, while the "stormy codices" remain intriguingly enigmatic.

Enshrouded in metaphorical fog, the city gropes its way, "brailling through fog"—a curious depiction blending blindness and disorientation. The imagery conjures a landscape of confusion and political oppression, signified by "twisted wire," reminiscent of wartime internment. Yet, amidst this darkness lies a paradoxical allure, a "velvet dialectic" that seduces even as it deceives. Corruption runs deep, transforming rivers into sewers, underlining a pervasive theme of water, both abundant and untamed. Art's "unchartered aquifers" hint at cultural neglect, while municipal gardens, their gates ajar after dusk, conceal cryptic "springheads." The water, far from cleansing, suggests an emotional deluge, perhaps tears.

A shift in tone transports the poet to a concrete setting, a nighttime scene beneath city pines during a period of turmoil. Arrests unfold as she fingers glass beads, reminiscent of the 1960s' counterculture, evoking protest and religious resonance. Transfixed "from head to groin," she yearns to preserve something undefined amidst the chaos. The narrative takes a mysterious turn with "they," who bring small glasses of water into the shadowed park before "gutting" villages. These "they," perhaps authorities or enforcers, perform seemingly compassionate acts that precede acts of destruction. The stanza closes, mirroring the first, questioning if this city is unchanged—a reflection on the endurance of past struggles.

The poet now plunges into a realm of personal narration, revealing a deep-rooted connection to the city she knows all too well. She likens her return to the city to a daughter compelled to restore her mother’s home, suggesting a poignant obligation to revive the memory of her "mother," the city. This metaphor paints a picture of a city, once vibrant, now withering under the weight of age and decay. The "rusted legacy" in the poem's title may symbolize this inheritance of deterioration, passed down through generations. The responsibility falls on the daughter to cleanse the wreckage left by familial history. As she enters her mother's house, she dons gloves to navigate the clutter of medicinals—symbols of the city's struggle to survive despite its ailments. Doubt lingers as she questions her ability to enact justice, despite her past as an "accomplished criminal," hinting at acts of political rebellion. Perhaps an activist turned to other pursuits, she now returns to confront the specters of her past. It is time to mend what time and neglect have eroded in the city. Yet, uncertainty shadows her steps as she wonders if she can truly unravel "the old wedding sheets"—those cherished relics of personal history—and purify the place. This stanza resonates with political conviction, depicting the poet's complex relationship with a city she both cherishes and detests, where her battles for change left a faint mark. Her homecoming is driven by a desire to make a meaningful impact, however, trepidation remains about her capacity to succeed.

Imagery of water weaves through this stanza, as the poet envisions herself as stone, with water gracefully pleating across her. This imagery of tears beckons a gradual transformation—water's persistent touch erodes even the hardest stone over time. She mourns her emotional detachment upon her return to the city and her mother, feeling like a "faithless daughter," unyielding as stone. Yet, the water hints at potential change, suggesting she might still influence the city's fate positively. The stanza concludes with a poignant question echoing from the outset: is this truly the same city? Though unchanged in name, decay has transformed its essence.

Stanza 4

In this concluding stanza, the poet transitions from first-person introspection to a more detached third-person perspective, referring to herself as "she" and "her." Throughout the poem, she has evolved from a shadowy figure speaking to the reader into a distinctive identity, only to now observe herself with a sense of detachment. She questions if this "I" is doomed to be "scabbed with rust." Reflecting on the poem's title, it seems she embodies the "rusted legacy," where once fervent political beliefs and actions now feel futile and deteriorated, much like the city itself. Laden with memories of this forsaken place, she acknowledges that most narratives have faded into oblivion. Sole among former comrades—perhaps those arrested or witnesses to the past—a truth-teller, she alone remains to recount their shared history. Her hands and shoulders "rusting," her lips "stone," suggest a silenced voice. Yet hope flickers in tears "leaching down" from her eyes, an unsettling image of deep-seated emotion poised to catalyze change. These tears, potentially a harbinger of transformation, symbolize the power to gradually reshape the immutable stone of her being and the city into newfound hope. She wonders if her tears mourn only for "one self." Her conclusion defies this notion, affirming her tears encase the entire city, each tear forming a membrane that cradles it. Though unsettling and graphic, the imagery suggests that from the depths of horror, violence, bitterness, regret, and mourning, new possibilities for renewal emerge, paving the path for positive change.