Site Title

Auschwitz, 1997
 
You are not here:
Not behind the window panes,
Not amid the heaps of trunks,
Not amid the artificial limbs.
 
On gravel paths,
From block to block,
In colorful packs
We, the living,  
Stroll about
Breathing freely 
The unsoiled air.
 
This strange town:
The buses taking us 
Straight through a gate
Onto the parking lot.
 
You are not here to welcome us  
Into this world of unreality
That is so real, so matter of fact,
We halt in our tracks
Dumbfounded.
 
Is this what it was?
This silence so loud,
These trees so high,
These chimneys so still.
 
Is this where you fell
Onto the outstretched arms
Of barbed wire fences?
 
Never to come back
Yet always returning
To touch the deadly peace,
To breath in the springtime air.
 
Retracing the steps,
Caressing the bricks,
I want to come close
To you, my unborn kin:
 
Who never left the living wombs;
Who never walked into a room
Filled with people just like you.