A Berlin Train
by Lil Lost Pixie
Wednesday, July 09, 2003
Print Save Become a Fan
Dedicated to those whom did, and did not survive the concentration camps...
Berlin train station
looms like a great
Everyone is large, when
your very little.
Mama would not stop fiddling with things.
My hat, my
My curls..My suitcase with the number
One hundred and fifteen tagged upon it..
It matched the number placed around
my neck..Around the necks of many
other little boys and girls, all looking
haunted by the monster
under their beds..As they stood
waiting for the train.
"We will come after! Yes? Your father and I
will catch a train soon, and follow you to England.
You must remember to be polite to these people
who will take you in. Treat them as if they are your
own mother and father. Respect them, and be on
your best behavior."
There were dark circles under her
eyes. Her hair in disarray..She had pulled the
fur collar of her coat past her chin. She was
smiling, but it was all wrong.
Her face was so red
like she wanted to scream and swallowed it.
Poppa said nothing. Nothing. I was sure
he wanted too..But he could not.
Around me other children cried, or screamed
Other Momma's and Poppas were pale
And she, my mother, kept fiddling with the bows
in my hair.
Till finally, we heard the whistle of
that great iron horse..The train.
My mother jerked, her hands trembled
and her lower lip did too.
The silence in the station after that
could have been
taken up with a spoon.
It wasn't long, before the men in uniform
Germans, all, rounded us up like proper cattle
I was taken to my compartment..Lead up the stairs.
My parents wooden, and still.
Some children had to be ripped away,
some times it was
It all happened too fast. I would have
liked to remember my mother as she was, loving
happy. But all I remember as the train
was that she ran to me
High heels clattering on cement..
One went flying off her foot
and this drowning panic
crept across her face...Poppa soon followed, he
ran with the train too..Until they both grasped my hands
They said so many things
streaming down their faces, Poppa
just kept getting whiter and whiter, and
they ran faster and faster..
I was shouting, they were shouting..
I remember I told them I loved them..
And then the train
ripped their hands from me.
Isn't it funny, then how I was
angry at them
for giving me up...
and now..I owe them my life..
They gave it to me, for theirs.
I wish I could thank them..
But the next trains
that went out
while I was in London
went in the opposite direction
to the camps.To Auschwitz
I never saw them again.