Out of the Shadows
They had become friends over time,
she thought.
Perhaps he had softened
with the many conversations they had had.
Then one day he wrote to her:
"America is afraid to be a victor.
Victors have rights .... the rights by conquest.
We should have ground.... Germany into the earth
to make sure
that they never recover, ever.
If you can't take the fight, curl up and take the beating."
As these words struck home,
I suddenly saw her
coming out of the shadows
out of the past:
a young girl, thin and pale,
her hair braided tightly
her eyes big behind the thick glasses.
I saw her cowering in the dark recesses of the bunker,
her father having hurried through the night
carrying his three children to safety,
I heard the whistle of the bombs falling,
saw the searchlights in the sky,
the sirens announcing the all-clear.
I saw her in that dark cellar
the battery acid sour in the air
the straw mattress thin and crackly.
I saw her in the camp fearing
to be left behind as the Russians advanced,
herparents remembering to get her
at the very last minute
as the tanks rolled through the small village.
I saw her peering over the wall in the garden
while the bullets slapped into the earth around her,
I saw her father disappearing in the dark night
for years to come,
I saw her cringing as the man crept into her bed
night after night,
and I wondered: if her mother knew,
did she bargain this way for her safety
or that of the others?
After all this time it came alive again
with all of its horrors
in the mind of the unwitting victim:
The war
and its aftermath
as vivid and horrific now as it was then:
Bombs raining down on the land,
fire storms burning entire cities,
sirens blaring,
bullets slapping into houses
into the back of hapless wanderers lying in ditches
hunger ravaging the people
soldiers plundering and raping
families in fear of reprisals
homelessness
families dislocated and lost in the chaos of retreat
children abandoned by the the wayside
young boys digging corpses out of ruins
teenagers in oversized uniforms thrown into futile battle.
All of this 75 years later
raining down
a message of destruction
and merciless death
killing everyone
in its path
guilty and innocent
young and old
strangers and beloved.
Into the silence
into this death that ensued
there fell no word of solace
of regret
of kindness
just silence
a heartless silence.
Listen, oh listen
to the cry of the wounded heart
this pain of recurring suffering
this messenger never had to endure!
she thought.
Perhaps he had softened
with the many conversations they had had.
Then one day he wrote to her:
"America is afraid to be a victor.
Victors have rights .... the rights by conquest.
We should have ground.... Germany into the earth
to make sure
that they never recover, ever.
If you can't take the fight, curl up and take the beating."
As these words struck home,
I suddenly saw her
coming out of the shadows
out of the past:
a young girl, thin and pale,
her hair braided tightly
her eyes big behind the thick glasses.
I saw her cowering in the dark recesses of the bunker,
her father having hurried through the night
carrying his three children to safety,
I heard the whistle of the bombs falling,
saw the searchlights in the sky,
the sirens announcing the all-clear.
I saw her in that dark cellar
the battery acid sour in the air
the straw mattress thin and crackly.
I saw her in the camp fearing
to be left behind as the Russians advanced,
herparents remembering to get her
at the very last minute
as the tanks rolled through the small village.
I saw her peering over the wall in the garden
while the bullets slapped into the earth around her,
I saw her father disappearing in the dark night
for years to come,
I saw her cringing as the man crept into her bed
night after night,
and I wondered: if her mother knew,
did she bargain this way for her safety
or that of the others?
After all this time it came alive again
with all of its horrors
in the mind of the unwitting victim:
The war
and its aftermath
as vivid and horrific now as it was then:
Bombs raining down on the land,
fire storms burning entire cities,
sirens blaring,
bullets slapping into houses
into the back of hapless wanderers lying in ditches
hunger ravaging the people
soldiers plundering and raping
families in fear of reprisals
homelessness
families dislocated and lost in the chaos of retreat
children abandoned by the the wayside
young boys digging corpses out of ruins
teenagers in oversized uniforms thrown into futile battle.
All of this 75 years later
raining down
a message of destruction
and merciless death
killing everyone
in its path
guilty and innocent
young and old
strangers and beloved.
Into the silence
into this death that ensued
there fell no word of solace
of regret
of kindness
just silence
a heartless silence.
Listen, oh listen
to the cry of the wounded heart
this pain of recurring suffering
this messenger never had to endure!
