(14th Annual Yom HaShoah--Holocaust Remembrance--Anthology)
Again the dream: the boxcar and the
long march. The camp. Last night, again,
selection and weeping. Ash in the air.
Don’t ask me why. Don’t ask me if
I miss someone I’ve never met, I
don’t. Except in dream, I was not
there to bear witness; was not there
at all. I don’t believe I’ve ever met
anyone who had to let their lover go
or let their father or their mother go
—I must have; must have met them,
but I can’t recall.
...........................This morning, though,
it seems I know them all. It seems I
stand beside them, waiting in long lines,
waiting in the cold on hard red ground,
surrounded by even harder faces, late
winter snow and traces of ash in the air.
long march. The camp. Last night, again,
selection and weeping. Ash in the air.
Don’t ask me why. Don’t ask me if
I miss someone I’ve never met, I
don’t. Except in dream, I was not
there to bear witness; was not there
at all. I don’t believe I’ve ever met
anyone who had to let their lover go
or let their father or their mother go
—I must have; must have met them,
but I can’t recall.
...........................This morning, though,
it seems I know them all. It seems I
stand beside them, waiting in long lines,
waiting in the cold on hard red ground,
surrounded by even harder faces, late
winter snow and traces of ash in the air.