The Last Mourning
By Lee Weisbord
The recently arrived girl stood silently watching
waiting for the sun to rise.
Early morning was her favorite time of day
when everything looked beautiful in her blue eyes.
Deserted by the morning dew
a small patch of dried brown earth
whispered to the girl a very dire warning:
“Better give this place a very wide berth.”
And the sky
the blue sky
the azure blue sky
the Tiffany-blue box sky
home to dream-like marshmallow clouds
that lazily went floating by
right side up
upside down
waving a final goodbye.
The girl looked around
and saw mound after mound
of lost treasures that had been forcibly seized.
Lying helpless on the wilted ground
they cried
without uttering a single sound.
toys
jackets
jewelry
shoes
dentures
handbags
eyeglasses
books
family photos
kippot
and rags.
All of the girl’s possessions had joined the endless piles
but all the girl had been given to wear
were two different-sized old shoes
and someone else’s stained clothes and dirty underwear.
The sun finally began its heavenly ascent
signaling the start of another new day.
The girl started to shake with fear
and she began to pray.
The girl looked up, the girl looked down
the girl looked all around.
The girl was desperately hungry
but there was no food to be found.
The girl recalled family picnics during happier times.
Memories of wicker baskets filled to the brim.
Her parents and siblings happily eating and joking.
The girl blinked as her black and blue eyes filled to the rim.
The girl thinks she sees a woman
who resembles a devious fox.
The woman points to a wicker basket
sealed with a padlock.
The woman smiles slyly.
She laughs. She mocks.
She drops an old-fashioned key
and kicks it under a pile of green rocks.
Rocks stained by thousands of tears
and drowning torrential rain.
The woman slowly disappears
leaving behind a trail of hunger and fears.
The girl is very anxious.
Her stomach makes last sorrowful rumbles.
Someone calls her newly tattooed number.
The girl is pushed from behind and stumbles.
The girl falls. Both her knees begin to bleed
blood red, the color of her favorite flower.
The sly woman pokes the girl with a sharp claw
snarling, “Hurry up girl. It is time for your last shower.”
The girl slowly enters the dry shower room.
She is all alone now and totally nude.
The girl begins to silently sob.
The smell of death matches her terrified mood.
The girls sees no towels, no soap, no running water.
The air slowly fills with a noxious smell.
The angel of death is nearby smirking
as he gleefully starts to ring his doomsday bell.
Lee Weisbord is an active member of a creative writing workshop sponsored by the Friedberg JCC of Oceanside. The goal of her writing is to remember the innocent victims of the Shoah, the innocent lives lost due to terrorism, and the current suffering caused by antisemitism.
