Broken Glass


Flames, looting, children crying

Houses set on fire, for why?

Didn’t they know I’d miss my parents?

Mom, where are you?

Trains carrying people like me

who haven’t seen sunlight for days

Smells like burning flesh

I’m hungry, but there’s no food

The aroma of black human smoke

seeps from deep-dark graves

where they remove gold fillings and our spirits

I’m just 8 years old

I want to be home with my family

Where are they taking me?

Please don’t take my shoes!

German Shepherds are sniffing 

Guards are cracking whips and shooting

Stacked dead bodies in neatly stacked piles

When will I be home, again?

When will I sleep in my bed?

I miss my sister, my mother, my father…

Broken glass is everywhere

My bare feet bleed and ache

Old people praying with rheumy eyes

swaying back and forth and groaning in pain

But I know the pain will be broken

My Rabbi told me so

There’s always an end to things

Bitter as the herbs that we eat

but soon as sweet as the honey cake.

For more on the Holocaust and hope, read my article, From the Concentration Camp to the Butterfly House.

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