Warsaw Ghetto – Never Forget

Tina Hacker
Warsaw Ghetto—Never Forget

The teenager plays
with her younger sister,
wiggling her fingers
to make the six-year-old giggle.
Then both follow their parents
in silence, so close they feel
attached like buttons to a coat,
until hands grab their hands,
pull them up and inside a boxcar.

Pepper of despair, intense and
persistent, burns the older girl’s
throat, muting her screams.
She knows the train’s
destination. Questions
inside the rumors she heard
in the ghetto exploded into answers
she refuses to share. The little one
must not know. Maybe their
parents don’t know.

Nazi guards shout at the panicking
crowd. You’re going to a place
the Reich recently built. You
will be taken to clean quarters.
The guards chuckle when they discuss
cleansing, but they don’t lie.
Treblinka II boasts new construction,
engineered for death.

The sisters’ fingers remain
tightly braided in the girls’ final moments
as if a defiant grip could squeeze
the poison from the fumes.
No burial, no marker. Their flesh
joins other flesh in flames.
But their souls escape,
wearing shawls of smoke.

Relatives who survive
mourn but they are gone now.
We, who live, must reach
for those unknown to us,
grasp hands, tell them,
we will never forget.

Tina Hacker, a four-time Pushcart Prize nominee, was a finalist in New Letters and George F. Wedge competitions and named Editor’s Choice in two literary journals. Her work has appeared in numerous publications such as the San Pedro River Review, Glass: A Journal of Poetry, The Fib Review and I-70 Review. Her poetry collections, Listening to Night Whistles and Cutting It have been joined by a collection titled GOLEMS, published by Kelsay Books. In 2016 Tina was honored as a Muse for The Writers Place in Kansas City, MO, and is currently poetry editor for the national magazine, Veterans’ Voices.

Tina Hacker Warsaw Ghetto—Never Forget

The teenager plays with her younger sister, wiggling her fingers to make the six-year-old giggle. Then both follow their parents in silence, so close they feel attached like buttons to a coat, until hands grab their hands, pull them up and inside a boxcar.

Pepper of despair, intense and persistent, burns the older girl’s throat, muting her screams. She knows the train’s destination. Questions inside the rumors she heard in the ghetto exploded into answers she refuses to share. The little one must not know. Maybe their parents don’t know.

Nazi guards shout at the panicking crowd. You’re going to a place the Reich recently built. You will be taken to clean quarters. The guards chuckle when they discuss cleansing, but they don’t lie. Treblinka II boasts new construction, engineered for death.