By Lisa Paulick
How this prickly surge of fear bleeds into my nausea
Limping back to the ghetto like a three-legged dog before
Your father noticed me
What if there is not a next time?
I feel your kick that cannot be yet
My resilience popping up at unexpected moments
Fear, doubt, guilt – the trinity masquerading as bravado
Stop bombarding me with false promises
I cannot keep you
You cannot haunt me
Of the waiting and the threat
I do not want to leave you
We are not worthless
What will you do after?
A corpse cannot give birth
You will not know stigma,
Starvation, exhaustion, the depth of
The best you can hope for is…
Your confession when you think
I am not watching you?
If I do not die with you, tell me which is the greater crime for children
Born under the star in what used to be Germany—death before life or living a drawn-out
When we share the same space again, we will be strong and whole
And you will have long forgiven me
This is one of four poems by Lisa Paulick featured in the gallery, honouring those that were lost, and survivors who had to make unimaginable choices. Lisa has read several books on the history of the Holocaust and the liberation of the camps and attended a survivors gathering four years ago in New York City.