I want to go home-for Yom Hashoah (Holocaust Day)

Her new home

she's come a long way, baby

Laura Ashley-

goyish, but gorgeous,

delicate, refined

the smell of  “Waspy” freshness

in every corner-

“It's very clean” she mutters, an accent 

 of some far away location

far away from the shimmering shores of the Hudson river

and so long ago, before her world died,

when she could boast  of a father

with  modern machines who

could crush kernels into

bread,

and recite the  mantra of

lines of gentile farmers waiting for

the miracle of a wealthy Jew-

“I want to go home” she declared, eyes blankly looking ahead 

at some dim memory of 75 years ago-

“and where is home” she is asked, fear in the daughter's voice,

lest she reply

“the Queens!”

“Sosnovitch” came the barely audible 

reply,

a tiny shtetl

 of carefree days,

not a Jew in sight today, unless 

you dig underground.

Another home, another grey haired lady 

lost in the emptiness of time

upon hearing her plea-”I want to go home!”

a social worker asks, pity and professionalism mingled in a desperate mind,

 “Where is home?

And she answers with a certainty born of confusion

“Auschwitz!”