Poem: my father stands in the picture
with his parents, brothers and sisters,
(the gas sealed cattle-cars
are still two years away.) they smile
not knowing this is the last time they will be gatherers happily together,
that nothing guards their world, that sky will be all that remains.

their eyes rest peacefully
on one another and on the camera
while tomorrow winds it’s arms and twists tighter round their necks.
yes it is still to early
to see the black boots coming:
smoke floats carelessly from a cigarette and children go to summer camp.

we see them-not yet lost,
standing on the precipice of wind and fire,
their image of vanished innocence, captured
an in out memory engraved.
still, they stand, unsuspecting,
composed, like any other happy family, while their black and white world rushes toward…is already on the final page