Six accusatory fingers
pointing to the heavens …
How many combinations of numbers
can you engrave on glass without
the shear weight of the sorrow breaks it
and we start again, piecing together
the history we pretended we'd forgotten.
Your face is solemn as we strain to read
try to remember words they wrote and follow paths
of steel and glass through each camp's shame
until we reach reality of 'now', tonight
in Boston's cooling air.
How sweet the birds sing
how green the grass -
how short the day.
Vickie Bowman © 2003
Remembering a visit to the Holocost Memorial
Boston MA 2000