Poems

Anne Frank’s Neighbor

February 24, 2015 /
She almost made it out
into the day light again
after years – years – without.  Fingers
pressed against the pane of glass,
behind a blackout curtain.  Sometimes in
front of it,
when she was feeling brave.
 
She thought it was safe, up so high,
the starlight on fingertips, no one would see.
But I saw. And I
told.
 
They marched out, in front
of soldiers’ guns, her face was
pale and eyes on fire with fear that
I caused. 
A cloudy day, still I saw it all. 
 
Sometimes after,
walking on the street below, I would
look up at the window, and
even decades later, I would see
with my two [very good] eyes
her palm print on the glass.