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EmailMy Forgone Family, a poem
Joseph Henry Albeck, M.D.
Maryland, U.S.A
My kin are gone -
grandparents, cousins, aunts,
step-relations of all descriptions,
old and young, children, sickly, healthy
strong and weak - all gone, all erased,
as if they never were.Beautiful and handsome,
homely and shy -
they remain fixed forever
in a few cherished,
but fading photographs.Newsreel reruns of
concentration camp scenes
pass before my eyes -
which ones should be recognized?How do you begin to look
for family resemblances
in a pile of corpses?Which naked ladies
with their babes in arms
might have lived
to enrich my lonely private world?Warehouses full of children's' clothes,
shoes, suitcases, and more
were preserved by the liberators
for their museums
at Auschwitz and Birkenau,
where I saw them once,
always only yesterday in my mind.Would that cap have fit a cousin?
That tiny infant's dress,
all by itself
in the glass case -
could it have clothed
near kin of mine?There are no answers
to such questions,
only anguish that
it wasn't stopped sooner,
and a strange, secret wish
that I could have rescued them,
even before I was born,
or, yet more eerily,
that if I should now
be good enough,
or smart enough, or strong enough,
I might yet somehow
save them from their fate,
undo their deaths,
and so feel myself whole again,
a part of the human family
at long, long last.It is as if countless souls hang
from the corners of my mouth -
frowning with the sad intensity
of one who seeks revenge
when there can be none.Is it true, therefore,
that there can be
no peace in my soul,
no smile on my face,
no humour in my heart?If I can no longer save them,
can I force myself to look
ahead to times of joy,
not back towards pain?To relax a little today,
anticipate a warm tomorrow,
and take solace
from life, love and beauty,
without betraying the dead,
or always carrying
this burden of guilt?Am I forever cursed
to see through eyes
made hazy by the soot
of forgone family,
scattered over the Polish Pale?The smoke hurts my eyes,
though I see it not.My tears still fall
a generation after
the ovens were stopped.Are these tears like snowflakes -
each formed around
and memorializing
a particle of familial ash?Is there a black hole
of resentment
inside of me, sucking in
all other emotions
before they can be seen
by those around me,
or even felt by me?I have not, today,
the charity within myself
to forgive God.I know he can't exist,
because if he did,
I'd have to stand in line
to strike back.Can you sue God for malpractice?
Is he insured?
What compensation
would ever be enough,
short of the resurrection
of all my lost soul-mates
and playmates never known?Maybe if I'd had relatives
to play with while growing up,
I'd have the ability
to play today,
to be less sombre and serious,
and just be comfortable,
or even fun to be with,
now and then.If not today,
perhaps tomorrow.