Archive
01/17/12
Plight
Tonight's horrific plight Isn't at all unlike that which I first suffered in 1945, When, a mere sack of tattooed epidermis and clattering bones,
I escaped death's taloned grasp, by the skin of my nonexistence, Evaded, by inches, minutes, inexplicable machinations, Being transmogrified into gassed and flash-fired ashes,
Becoming just another inconspicuous statistic Skittering, as dizzily as a crazed gnat over a wineglass, Up a chimney stack at Auschwitz's odoriferous necropolis.
Indeed, though it's been sixty-seven years since my commutation And I've miraculously reached my eighty-fifth year, Little, if anything, since my '43 deportation, has grown less shrill.
Still, my days and nights are filled with chill, Fear so otherworldly, so surreal, so dripping with stalactites, I might be a naked Neanderthal cave-dweller bathed in black
Or a twin-headed bat hanging from the ceiling of the Reichstag, Eavesdropping on a rabid Führer Spewing professor Martin Luther's pious Jew-abominations,
To his edge-of-their-seats fanatical NSDAP gauleiters, Those craven, sycophantish bastards with hideous surnames Beginning with "H" — Hitler, Himmler, Heydrich, Hess, Höss.
If only, in solitude's, loneliness's, seclusion's concentration camp, I could return to my pre–Nuremburg Laws youth, Resume my dreams of becoming Theodor Herzl, Albert Einstein, Rather than reenact the endless, life-denying dread cycle Of stepping, nude, into the shower room, for "lice disinfection," Submitting to a Hölle-furnace, to be cremated alive,
I might rid these past years of my survivor's plight, begin to be. But truth is, it's way too late for me. I can't risk losing the one identity that still identifies with me.
01/17/12
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