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Home

How many years have passed
since I stepped across the threshold
for the last time?

A bridal canopy of turbid smoke
has spanned itself
above my one-time home
with its wrought-iron rail,
and they who led me down the aisle to my beloved
are Belzec and Maidenek.

And I,
fugitive from under that black pall
am homeless still,
a wanderer,
nomad, with no guide,
a leper
scarred by adversity and pain.

My needs are few,
a corner,
a roof for my sorrow
which trembles
beneath the chilling glance
from alien eyes.

How many years have passed
since I crossed my own threshold
for the last time?

My days and nights grow dim
with premonition
that m home hangs
suspended on a spider-thread
of memory.

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