Perhaps there are real angels who assist <br />the ghosts of martyrs to the other side, <br />since what is left behind cannot resist <br />the flames of hell? A family of three died <br />slowly at the hands of hateful men, <br />and Yaakov Prenner, holding match and gas, <br />looks at the residue of pain: a ten <br />inch block of wood lodged in the father’s ass, <br />skin peeled from the mother’s neck and back, <br />brain matter from the infant on the floor. <br />He knows the enemy will soon attack, <br />and that if caught he won’t survive the war. <br />In Yiddish he commands his men to pour, <br />to strike, and like Lot, never to look back.<br /><br />Leo Yankevich<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/koniuchy-eastern-poland-1944/
