Short Stories and poetry | Jamie Glaser | Holocaust


I didn’t live there.
I’m not Jewish.
I clutched my bear.
Where was it coming from? 
The next day it was on the news.
“Nazi activity destroyed a temple.”
That could have been our church
Where brother had first communion
Where mother and father were married.
Our stained glass in pieces,
Broken lollipops on the pavement
Mary’s head fragmented, shattered.
I began having nightmares
Mom told me to stop
Its not our family being terrorized
Then why am I terrified?
My heart tied by ripcord
To my brother’s heart
Beating in frantic unison
They came for the Jew first…
Are we “normal” enough?
To keep our stained glass long enough
For my first communion?
Mother, why are you crying?
She caressed my cheek
Almost pinching it
“Thank you.”
She holds my head close to her breast
And weeps.
The night that the glass was shattered
Was the night we broke too
Apart, but together
Hearts beating
In frantic unison.

* * *

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