Never ask me again
"Where's your family?"
My family is weighted down by lead
In Babiy Yar.
My family's blood fertilized the
fields
By Shepetovka.
My family fell down
In nameless fields
In Belarus.
My family was never born.
Millions of unfertilized ova
Melted into the ground
With war widows and orphans
Who never knew a mother's kiss,
Only a steel hand and an iron
voice.
A generation of mothers
Whose wombs turned to stone,
Nipples – to copper.
Hearts – to pewter,
Twisted and broken.
All for the Front,
All for the Victory.
Looking down into the Yar,
Where the trees touch the heavens
The colour of mercury,
Just like the Dnieper,
I tried to imagine them,
Suitcases in hand.
Walking in hostile land,
Huddling close.
Cursed you are in the city,
Cursed you are in the field.
Coming and going,
With fever and drought,
Smitten by enemies,
That was my family.
***
I hug trees and caress stones
Of our Land.
There is a pine cone on my desk,
That came from Jerusalem.
A tiny little piece of the dream
Which is always with you.
Wondering why my children
Grew up to be patriots.
Did the toxic sand of Babiy Yar
Pass through my DNA?
Did they hear the pride in my voice,
When I said, don't be afraid,
It's OUR army aeroplanes?
Did they see me weeping
Towards the end of the flight
At the sight of the Tel Aviv
coastline?
Or do they know – really know –
Where we come from,
And where we go?
Never ask me again
The innocent question
About my family.
Blessed sanctuary of America,
Peaceful suburbs in England,
Beautiful uninterrupted generations,
Uncles and sisters and cousins,
Interconnected and growing,
Never ask me about the sadness I
carry
And will carry forever.
Don't ask me.
Look at my children.
That is your answer.
