Oh, Hannah,
Dearest Hannah,
blessed was your fire,
stoked though
feet of eight/
darkened block/
snuffed flame
sealed your
unconscionable fate.
I inhale the soot
which marked the spot
where once your
hands held paper.
Your splintered pencil
wrote of faith and country,
love and purpose.
I choke from the
breadth of their
enmity for you.
The sediment grows thick
with apparitions
for whom vindication
has not come, as
I struggle with breaths
acidic from decades of decay.
I am reduced to travailing,
as my lungs, my heart
digest the stench
of horrors you endured.
I want to mourn for you
with peace and reverence,
but am filled with anger
that young poet so gentle
was made martyr.
They caged you, though could not constrict your spirit,
They beat you, though each hit only served to remind you were still breathing,
They raped you, yet after grown men had torn into your youthful flesh
punishing your temple for simply being Jewish,
You mustered enough strength to stand to your feet…
let your dress gape open to shame them
as you walked the camp bruised and bleeding.
But you faltered only for fleeting moments
Before again taking in hand pencil
To write of blessings and hope,
And when they knew finally
they could not break you…
They stood you without benefit of mercy,
No counsel, no marches,
No chance for reprieve
No final countdown
No media,
As you kneeled
before uniformed soldiers/
shot you like thief,
like vagrant/
young girl at war,
unable to grasp
the impact of your existence.
In those last days of
dolor and muck,
wash and ascendance,
what name did you call
but Mother, Dearest Mother,
what God acknowledged you
Daughter, Faithful Daughter/
no calvary sky darkened/
connect undone/
words not heard,
while execution
fulfilled their plan?
Who came for you,
who came for you
while your Hebrew pen
grew lonesome
for your hand,
did no one think to aide
those decedents
who now grieve
for never having read
what more you had to say?
Who failed to rescue you,
who WAS it, Hannah?
What man lacked humanity
and let your worn shoes
be stripped from
weary ankles,
after you paced in circles,
gazing upwards towards
Adonai and Mother?
Did no one come
while ashen tears
fell upon the
blemished face of man?
Who comes for us all,
when we give life for
mission, exchange
sanctuary for mortuary?
Who will rescue OUR words,
who will hear OUR pleas
for love, for peace,
what name will
WE call, but Mother,
Dearest Mother/
when the soot
fills our lungs and our
pens write no more?
Will no one come, Hannah?
Will no one come
for us as
no one
did for you?
Hannah Senesh [Szenes], (July 17, 1921 – November 7, 1944)
May your soul rest in peace.
