The Righteous Gentiles - Feb 24 2023

 

The Righteous Gentiles

Feb 24 2023

The dirt floor.

The cold brick,

dripping condensation

and laced with spider webs.

The low ceiling

and even lower joists,

so we crouch in the dark

and crawl instead of walk.

Our knees are sore,

backs permanently bent.

Heavy footsteps overhead,

hard men

and thick-soled boots.

A voice, used to obedience,

the thud of a rifle butt

against someone's head.

The righteous;

poor themselves

with little to share,

risking their lives

to shelter us.

Who knows

how many years

hiding like this,

a dank cellar

not much bigger than a crawlspace?

Not when we count in days,

and minutes seem like hours.

And the few precious moments

emerging into light

and unsullied air.

The sweet smell of hay

and singing of birds,

the wind in our hair

and sun on our skin.

Our faces

all turn toward

its unaccustomed warmth.

But it's too bright

to see much

with unadjusted eyes,

and we are too beaten down

to fully straighten up.

Also called The Righteous Among the Nations. I have idea why this poem and why now. Perhaps it was just a word I saw, glancing at something. Whatever it was, this image of a dank cramped cellar came to mind. Perhaps the poem shows the influence of the previous one, Plus Ça Change, with its talk of genocide and atrocity.