Thursday, October 30, 2014

Dreaming in Buchenwald

 

Dreaming in Buchenwald

The world burns before our eyes,
and the smell of everything red
is on our skin.
We wait in line for bread
that never comes. We speak
to strangers thinking they will
tell us where our lives are.
We pray in the barracks
and the fields for the miracle
of hope.

____________________________

My father survived 4 years in Buchenwald.  He never thought he would.

A number of my poems in Lightning and Ashes describe his struggle to keep going.  

____________________________

The photo is by American photographer Margaret Bourke-White.  From her book Dear Fatherland: Rest Quietly, a memoir of her journey through wartime Germany with the American Army.