Naomi Posinova

Naomi Pasinova
January 4, 1932 - 1944

The fourth of the beginning of 1932,
that's when I first met the world.
The only of many a household,
that's the way of Prague

Father worked to the Max,
bringing home many a hat,
owning plenty of smoke of a plastic fire.

Mother stayed always a day.
Dishes washing,
floors a-scrubbing;
the scent of decrotive food dancing with Rachel.

The Green Germans took over;
they took over a month after the mole.
Thirty nine to start a take,
a take with fate
as my knowledge no longer grew with numbers.

It was on the forty second fall of the calender,
our only sense of time.
It was then,
it was then that three were sent;
sent to the ghetto Theresienstadt.

Cap smoke upon Father's face,
children around Mother's waist,
and I left for education's take.
Still the infest,
reminds me that in camp we remain.

Forty four selected the end
as mom and dad held me closer.
Out at Auschwitz,
father was gone.
Out at Auschwitz,
the gas grew calm.

It is there that I lay with mother today,
twelve new beginnings with
one final end...