Remembering the Silence of the Shoah

Monday, 10AM in Jerusalem, the city turns off. A siren crests. It will do for a minute more. What are they remembering? The baker, with his apron a flour, belly looming, who walks to the street. The drivers who stop their cars with a lurch, tiptoe beside the zigzag. 

Although the old couple

hawking for a taxi don't see 

the point, spit a curse

The ambulance stops,

cuts off flaring horn praying:

Remember, Keep On

One held breath quivers 

like a torn eyelid, healing

drop to bone to blink

In silence, easy to think

of all the dead, hard to hate

that enemy next door