Slice of Life 17 of 31

I wrote this poem after I read The Book Thief by Markus Zusak, then spoke to my parents who lived through bombings by the German Luftwaffe. My father’s family house was bombed completely, and they had to move to a different city temporarily during WWII. I have never found a title for this piece, so I leave it Untitled. I use anaphora in this poem too.

Untitled 2008

Because I never lived through it

Never heard the sirens

Nor saw the spiders under the

stairs, I can see how they were

innocent like us, and hated the

father and knew his lies.

Because I never ran for shelter

during school or dinner or

midnight rendezvouses, I can

feel their horror matched to ours,

and know some had hearts 
to hide just a handful 
of Jews.

Because I never starved on

rations for years after

never struggled to buy eggs

or flour, I can understand they

were rationed too, and children

played despite the mires.



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