When All That's Left is Words

Years ago, I wrote the shortest of all my poems. It is perhaps the only one I can recite - either because it is short, or because, to me, it sums up so much of what has gone on in the world. And today, as I listen to rememberances of the Holocaust, in this the 60th year since the liberations, I hear my own words echoing in my head. I realize that it is the words that are left by those who live through horror, turmoil and trauma that stand as their legacy. A legacy that cannot ever be forgotten.

When I read that a 17 year old student has recorded the words of his grandparents, words they have only been able to utter in recent years - words they could not pass on to their children because the memory was too fresh - I whisper silent thanks that their words are being preserved. To read about this moving film, see http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/7747401/

I, myself, have spent some time listening to the words of other Holocaust survivors. Recently, my story "My Mother's Table," which grew out of the stories I have heard, the people I have met, and a gift from a friend of his mother's furniture, won an Award of High Distinction in the Tom Howard/John H. Reid Short Story Contest. I am humbled to find my words have been honored in this way. The story can be found online at:
http://www.nywriterscoalition.org/plum_biscuit/issue1/Prose/MyMothersTable.htm

Maybe after you read about this film or read my story you will agree with the shortest poem I ever wrote:

Aftermath

The pain
remains.