Felix

Saying goodbye to a whole life. How I imagine my grandfather left Germany.

 

 

His life in two garbage bags,

Packed neatly away in the back of the car.

He had so little,

Gave so much.

 

“Your Grandfather,”

My mother would say

“Had many secrets,”

 

I can still picture him in my mind’s eye

His smile, wide as the sky,

As I sat on his lap,

And played with the rings

On his fingers at age five.

 

And I can imagine him:

Shivering on the docks,

Smog choking the air.

His mother holds his ten-year-old hand,

With her gloved one.

The six-pointed stars on their chests,

Mirror each other,

The only thing alive

And vibrant that day.

 

He is crying,

Little Felix Oppenheimer,

His mother is not.

 

He looks up at her,

From under,

The brim of his cap,

And asks,

“Do I have to go?”

 

His mother bends down,

And with steady hands,

Rips the star from his chest,

Tossing it to the ground.

 

There is no going back,

He must go alone,

The only one of them

To get out.

 

Thirteen pairs of shoes, then twelve,

Lined up by the door of his house In Berlin.

Only one pair of shoes

Not taken

From dead feet

In the Camps.

 

Five dollars and a kiss

On the dock

Of his homeland,

And the hope,

Of one day,

Another kiss.

A hope unfulfilled

 

As the boat pulls away

And with tears in his eyes,

Little Felix looks back,

And yells,

“Aufwedersen Mutti, Ich Liebe dich,”

And he cries,

But his mother does not.

She cannot cry

For the one who survived

When her other ten children

Will die

Reviews

[Naomi Montana Walsh]

Well done..this poem takes the reader to a moment of poignancy.
There is a reason to bring memories of wrongs done and sufferings of the past and that is so that we may never cause them to repeat..but also to understand where someone like " Felix" your grandfather comes from to honour their memory .. even the part they were before you knew them.

[Antonio Valentino]

Allegra, what a sad but wonderful tribute to your grandfather and his family during this most difficult time. May we all be so lucky as to have a grandchild who writes about us, when we are nearing winter's door.

Antonio

[James Paulin]

Beautifully composed in form and verse. It reminds the reader of a harsh reality that defied human dignity.
Thank you.