poem

I wrote this at Auschwitz Concentration Camp last Friday on my 5th or 6th trip there with students.

Gas chamber, Hole in ceiling,
Doors clang shut, Trap door opens,
Cylinder falls, People scream.
Those far away climb upon bodies,
Already dead, they form a pyramid of humanity,
Seeking clean air. Seeking life from fresh air.
The person who died at the top was last to die,
but first to be cremated. Ashes of these
Are scattered in a pond, which today
Is still grey.
Today, an inverted triangle with candles forms a shrine.
Candles light the space upon which bodies of people once piled up.

sorry to be so real...

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