A Survivor's Memory

Twelve years under a survivor’s
skin, gnawed bones of a forgotten name;
crumpled skeletal figure and wrinkles of age,
Now and then the tongue sits
nestled in the cot where the
tooth bridge with gold filling used to lay.

Burning blauschein, an old parchment of livelihood
marked by a dissolving blue stamp,
what bittersweet paradox of
love and hate,
life and death.
Bony fingers along the ashes, trailing like
strands of hair
singed, falling along bones
charred, of
the rise and fall of limbs thrown into a mountain.
Dust of human ash -
No, by law blood is not to be consumed with flesh.

Yellow star of David, once loved star
now despicable cuff band like one tattooed
blemish on white sheep.
Forcing the old sweet
memories of
tefilin laid on the arm and
on the head Tallit and Kippah, but
one may not forget the Shabbat is rest.

Human nakedness embracing Purim
casting lots:
Mist that falls from the head,
Is this rain today?
Of the empty metal tins discarded everyday,
Z-y-k-l-o-n-B
disposing persons,
shameful unspeakable unaccountable numbers
enumerating 1.2 million, maybe more.
Inside the darkness –
Chai, life,
savagely you were earned.

Oskar.

Little Goshen churning out enamel
blueprints of 1200 lifetimes,
of gratitude, and the much needed
essential workers.
The final product: one golden filling, a golden ring,
and an old adage,
He who saves a single life saves the entire world.

And now, Yad Vashem. Pebbles. Rocks. Tombs of the righteous.

Mensch.