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Emily at Auschwitz |
She wore the thin
leather boots bought in Haight
Ashbury. On the ride
back to Krakow
a disturbance crept up on her,
a disturbance she could not recognize.
Joseph, her great-grandfather,
arrived in one of the last transports,
never left.
Does blood murmur to its own
through ash that still dirties the air,
bone whisper to its own
through gray dust piled beneath the soles?
In this place where the dead survive
did Joseph’s fire-digested eyes
know Emily on sight,
the daughter of his daughter’s daughter,
a link in the dying chain
miraculously alive.
copyright 2010
Georgia
Jones-Davis |
