by Mel Glenn (Brooklyn, NY)
It was like speaking to my mother,
my mother who has been dead for 14 years.
Invited to dinner, I sat next to Renee,
an elegant woman of advanced years.
She looked like my mother, sounded like my mother,
and spoke in soft Viennese accents
that sounded like melted chocolate.
But most remarkable of all,
she lived in that classical city in the same year,
my mother did, 1938, the year of the Anschluss.
Spellbound, I listened as she told the following story:
“Ordinarily, a red flower sitting in a pot on the window sill
basks in the early light, its petals rising to meet the emerging sun.
Amid the tightening noose of soldiers swarming, doors knocked open,
the flower appears as a symbol that beauty has not been crushed
under the soles of marching boots.
But the bright red flower has been discolored
by the growing and blackening evil,
and serves now as an ominous warning sign.
‘Papa if you see a flower on the window sill, do not come home.
The Gestapo is here looking for you. Run, please!
I do not know when I -or the flower- will ever see you again.'”
Both my mother and Renee escaped the Holocaust,
one to Palestine, one to Switzerland.
How many other lives were saved, I wonder,
by the appearance of one red flower
sitting in the morning sun?
The author of twelve books for young adults, Mel Glenn has lived nearly all his life in Brooklyn, NY, where he taught English at A. Lincoln High School for thirty-one years. Lately, he’s been writing poetry, and you can find his most recent poems in the YA anthology, This Family Is Driving Me Crazy, edited by M. Jerry Weiss.
If you’d like to learn more about his work, visit: http://www.melglenn.com/