Poems

REMEMBRANCE

I stand outside the arched gate feeling cold as the stone walls on either side,

still unsure if I wish to enter, uncertain what nightmares still lurk within.

A breeze rustles the leaves of the trees on this side — there will be no trees on the other side —

a whispered warning?

the long silent cries for mercy?

desperate screams muffled by thick cinderblock,

drowned forever by the deadly hiss snaking through pipes overhead?

This compound, now abandoned, was once populated by evil intent too incomprehensible for words:

depravity

inhumanity

insanity

all clearly insufficient to describe the misery, the horror carried out on a daily routine

with total precision like the gears of a giant machine.

A shiver worms its way up my spine as I lift my gaze to the iron lettering arcing above —

ARBEIT MACHT FRIE.

Like those before me, I enter one reluctant step at a time and gaze at the phantom remains of a

camp once teeming with souls bereft of hope, cowering from guards urging them on at gunpoint,

voices shouting, “SCHNELL! SCHNELL!”, amid dogs straining at their leashes, snarling,

growling, lunging with teeth bared, mouths foaming.

Railroad tracks run through the camp where trains groaned to a stop, releasing a weary sigh of steam.

Wood doors slam open on each car,

bursting with a flood of wary passengers

assemble

To the left — you die

To the right — you live

Live to

work

until starving, lice ridden, sick,

you can no longer work.

ARBEIT MACHT FRIE

Oh, such a lie!

GAUNEKA

Each May just before the school year ended they arrived –

FINALLY!

Page after page of smiling faces

Grouped by class, clubs, teams, band, homecoming, parades, and prom.

Packed full of memories to carry

With us long after our glory days were done.

Each beaming face full of promise

A reflection of carefree days before

Responsibility descended on us,

Making us cautious,

Before the call to jungle warfare in-country,

Before bullets erupted at Kent State,

Before Hippies and Yippies,

Before draft card burnings,

Bra burnings,

And flag burnings,

Before John met Yoko,

Before Dion sang about Abraham, Martin, and John,

Before Billy Jean beat Bobby Riggs.

Back when Watergate was just a hotel

When Sharon Tate was an up and coming star,

When Ali was Cassius Clay,

When Neil Armstrong was still a test pilot,

When Snoopy faced down the Red Baron,

When Maris and Mantle were all the craze

And Zeke from Cabin Creek made all us Mountaineers proud.

Looking at those once young faces

Signed with “Best Wishes”

Within the pages of my yearbook,

The Gauneka,

From all those decades ago,

The Boss was right –

Those youthful times indeed “pass you by

In the wink of a young girl’s eye”,

But how were we to know?

How were we to know?