Poem for Holocaust Remembrance Day

Forsythia spills over fences
in Connecticut:
                                the rest remains bare.
Survivors light candles, sulphur
from the match curling
                              around their heads.
A cantor sings Kaddish as much for the living
                              as the dead.
We have put on our good clothes.
We have driven through the pleasant country
                              to take our seats on a stage.
I listen to the audience: am I someone
singing to himself
                              to make silence less?
Or rouse a voice where there is none,
and, nothing myself, resurrect
                               the living from the dead.

 (originally published in Notre Dame Review and included in my collection, Evidence of Things Seen)

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