at a certain time of night a sadness grows
all the answered questions are questionable
resolutions unresolved
and hideous nagging doubting Toms
cry their ugly defiant chatter
in shadows remaining unlit
I lie and ponder the wake of dawn
the moment when freedom rings
when the people that went before
circle and enclose my spirit
a wee lad
away from the doubting Toms and locked keys of ill will
resting beyond the jealousy of regret or sorrow of wasted love
to a place where mushrooms grow and wild berries stain children’s fingers.

I watch, through a glass window pane
a candle flickers as a registrar
keeping records of names
births and deaths
each recorded, each stamped
and with each name my grandfather recites
“register away hurt, anger, betrayal and hatred.
here is my offering, i give this to you
a child so open to life
a child so open to love
a child from the era of hours of sadness past
from this pen of births and deaths
I offer you recognition of trust and love.
I give this to you. Take it."

I query and query,
fumbling my locked keys,
proud of my status
calloused by my survival
my survival, my survival
i turn away,
run
and leave all behind.

•

holocaust. Isaiah was the registrar in a small village on the border of the Caspian Mountain Range in then Austria. Time period WWII.