Friends ask when I write,
Again? Again, the Holocaust?
Aren’t you ever done with that?
I guess not, I say. It’s with me,
like a jagged scar that doesn’t
heal but stings and aches, forever.
Novembers specially open up
the scabs, images of Kristallnacht
rising to freeze my heart – black-shirted,
black-hearted SS men trampling
our poor belongings, — vivid as ever,
frightful as ever.
Forget it, yes. That’s what they say.
Even my mother urged it. Forget.
Why not? We suffered no harm,
running off with our lives and
some of our things and, really,
what’s the point?
We were safe soon enough, though without
our fatherland, our relatives,
our innocence. Can I really forget
that horrific November day and
blot the painful years that followed
from memory? Who will tell me how?
by Miriam Raskin
[12/25/11; rev. 02/10/12]