Eye Witness
Inside my backpack bottle of water, a small apple
tissues for all the tears they deserve
a photocopied prayer for the dead.
Our guide, a young woman from the town.
We enter the gates, smaller than I thought,
view exhibits, the hair, the bowls.
Why shaving brushes?
But no-one can say why. Only how.
Imagining my daughter’s face
I stumble from the children’s room.
Outside our guide wipes a tear away.
She has never seen it all before.
Around the courtyard for firing squads
boarded windows hid experiments;
female inmates heard but couldn’t see.
I cannot walk to the execution wall.
On the coach to Birkenau I eat my apple.
Martine from Berlin, Black American fiancé
at her side, nods at my gold Star
and suddenly we, the Outsiders, are a group.
We talk and talk, in the huts, on the ramp
beneath the gate, at the latrines.
She confides, I don’t like to speak German
here. But I want to say
I am proud to be German.
The endless green of Auschwitz
stretches in the midday Polish sun.
You should, I say.
Driving back to Krakow
we exchange emails, hugs.
Two years later, an invitation
to a Berlin wedding; Jews, Germans,
African Americans, all alive.
© Miriam Halahmy
Yarzheit candle - Jewish memorial candle to the dead.