Saturday, December 3, 2016

A Pogrom Called Auschwitz

Her eyes are blank marbles
her hair black skin white
a corpse 
its nude innocence
lingering
a beautiful woman
dead.

dead the pile
of corpses
beneath her
dead once beauties
alive once
how to imagine
those lives.
Where they ate
who they loved
the jokes they told,
her laugh.

It seems that I hear it
deep in my skull
laughter that says
so many things
too many things
but things I can
only begin to grasp.


5 comments:

  1. a strong attempt to capture an enormity which cannot be captured

    ReplyDelete
  2. Thanks, Robbie, Sarah and Rob. I don't write poetry often but am trying.

    ReplyDelete
  3. You capture the horrible ordinariness of it

    ReplyDelete

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