Forty Years from Hiroshima

Your death shall not have been in vain

father, I vowed

as I laid flowers on your grave

number nine hundred and seventy-five

terrace H, row four

with your name misspelled

on the humble grey block of cement

Prisoner number 142,769

you were to them

but to me

you were everything

when I was a little girl—

then you were gone

Your diary speaks of hunger and cold

of humiliation and of love,

I miss you

you wrote on Christmas eve

nineteen hundred and forty three

have courage

and strive to be a worthy human being

… I only fear that your home will be

everywhere and nowhere

when you grow up …

How right you were, father

I am torn between countries

torn between friends

scattered all over the world

by the violence of our war

and when it finally ended

But there are other peoples’ wars

other tears, nameless graves

faded photographs of boyish faces

diaries and letters gathering dust

unopened many years

for fear of pain re-lived

other hopes, sweet memories

gone

Quickly I left the Waldfriedhof Dachau

I wouldn't stay and cry

my life is out there

four thousand miles away

and forty years from Hiroshima

yet—it seems like yesterday