Legacy
When Grandma comes to visit
The war plants itself in our midst
We are hugged by the same arms
That held the dead little uncles
Fifty years ago.
She is forever marked,
Brindled by the tattoos of trauma
Her concentration camp tales
Are told with conviction
And venom.
They inject us with hatred
So that we may love her,
Love our country better.
There were fishhooks in the bully beef
No toilets in the camp
They used soapboxes for coffins
No shelter from the damp
Transported in open cattle trucks
The night so bitter cold
The second little uncle died
When he was five years old.
The British did all this to us,
our country and to you
so never never ever forget
to our nation always be true.
Hearts in our throats, around the piano
We sing patriotic songs
She has convinced us that
Fifty years after
The peace was signed
The war still is not over.
Being Benadé is the prose version of this poem.
For context see Alhamra Interview
